Operation Theta
by Nobodythestormcrow
Summary: Nyx was a reasonably benevolent magnificent bastard, and Thanos' oldest enemy. She also forced eight-year-old Petra Fury, daughter of Neptune to become her Dusk, and manipulated events so that the girl would be trained by the Red Room. Zola would at least appreciate a nice, moldable mind. "Student, report." "G? C1? C2? S? C3? L?" He might, but HYDRA agents, no. Too complicated.
1. History

The moniker 'Lady of the Shadows' was not an empty title. Nyx was not just the protogenos of night, after all, why was it that though each generation was prophesized to be greater than the last, Zeus Sky-lord, King of the Gods, son of Kronos Crooked One, King of the Titans, son of Ouranos Primordial of the Sky, Lord of the Protogenoi feared Her, as did his forefathers? Yet though She was feared and respected, She never ruled the assembled divinities. She was the Patroness of all who acted in the shadows, the spies, assassins, and spymasters. As times changed, Night's Queen chose to absent herself from the open field of politics, and so did Her House. Instead they had become the players in the shadows.

They were beings who were old ere humanity came to be, old ere the Lightbringer Fell and the Lights of Heaven were dimmed, old ere the Darkness was bound. They watched, and were known by many names, Azrael, Thanatos, the Pale Horseman, the Morae, the Parcae, the Norns, Fortune, Retribution, Justice.

Nyx was the Queen Endless, daughter of the Queen Eternal. The first sentient creation, the first being that once was not. A product of the combined efforts of both Creation and Destruction. She was neutral in the great war in which Creation (God) sealed away Destruction (the Darkness) with a seal he first gave Erebus, a being dark, created to hold that seal.

He was corrupted, and sought to release the Darkness from her prison. Undomiel the Eveningstar cast him down at the price of her (it was her now, since the Morningstar's vessel was male) life, and he became Thanos the Mad Titan. Sadly, this did not deter him from his agenda, and he continued to be the House of Night's primary foe. After Lucifer's Fall, God left to give angel kind free will. Leaving the House of Nyx as the only organization that actually had any organization, to shepherd creation's evolution.

In another world, She made a different choice, and was a force of Darkness above all others, harbinger of calamity, merely culling the mortals, forcing it to evolve, cruel and capricious and hateful. In this one, She chooses duty, coldness and control.

She created masks for the remnants of the lights, the soldiers that fought in Creation's battle against His Sister. They became divinities, and found refuge in the night, as the constellations in the sky. Then she sent them into the world, to be minor deities in various pantheons. When they brought her word that Gabriel was hiding as Loki, she spoke of it to no one.

She chooses to do more, and made sure certain humans ascended to Angelhood. They order heaven enough that its chaos does not bleed to earth, so that Angel kind could learn to have free will slowly. (Too slowly perhaps)

She gives humanity the potential for great power. It gives them some protection against the more advanced races, but there is a darker purpose. They would need them to fight against Thanos, for Nyx would not take to the battlefield, and risk releasing a fragment of the Darkness. She created people with powers. But such powers also came at great price. Those who had them were the minority, were different, and so scorned and shunned. They were called mutants.

She also extended an aegis over mortals in the form of the Ancient Laws, giving them some protection from supernatural agencies.

Last, she created a position in her House. Her Dusk. Embodiment of the Will of Nyx. A way of acting without causing too much of a chain reaction. One of her Dusks had jokingly referred to the position as her PA, standing for personal assistant, personal agent, and personal assassin.


	2. Choice

Nicholas Fury was not having a good day. It was not because the New Mexico fiasco showed that there were so called gods, or even that the gods were part of Norse mythology. It was because the gods were aliens. Fury knew about the supernatural, at least in passing, after all, there was a reason for his lack of aging, and it wasn't the Infinity Serum bullshit that was in his files (if that formula existed, he would have used it on plenty of good people now lost to time, especially his predecessor and mentor, Director Peggy Carter). He already was conscious of the existence of pagan gods, vengeful spirits, supernaturally mutated humans (wendigos) and the like, beings that were supernaturally superhuman. The good thing about those creatures was that they had supernatural weaknesses that could be exploited, and that there were also people who were aware of them and protected the general populace from their attacks. The knowledge that there were other superhuman beings, with advanced _technology_ that outgunned humans to the point that it wasn't even funny was just a bit too much, since unlike supernatural foes, there weren't any Achille's heels in alien technology to exploit, or if there were, SHIELD was still unaware of them.

Naturally, that was when his day got worse. Although one could argue that it also got better. Between one moment and the next, the perfectly nice empty air in front of his desk was replaced by a distinctly rumpled 12-year-old with white hair in a single braid. Quite understandably, he shot her as an intruder. The bullet went through the girl, and a voice protested from the ground obscured by his desk, "Hey! I come in peace! Can you be slightly less trigger happy when I get up? Thank the gods that I used a Mistform."

Noting that the being he shot was indeed similar to a hologram, Fury aimed his gun at where the origin of the voice seemed to be, before directing the girl to stand up. After she did so, he pointed the gun at her, and said,

"Give me a reason not to shoot you as an intruder right now." He left out the part of him having his finger on the emergency button to summon guards.

Recovering admirably fast, the child smirked and said, "Because I come as an ambassador and ally. Tell me, have you heard of demigods?" Then she frowned ruining the impression of control, "of course, there are magicians as well, the scribes of Per Ankh, although they're organized into Nomes instead of the Greek and Roman camps, Greek and Roman as well as Egyptian are the two currently existent Divine Pantheons, thank the divinities above, imagine the mess it would cause if there were _three_ Norse pantheons, oops, sorry, ADHD. My name's Heaven by the way, Heaven Crow slash Khionesdottïr slash Lokisdottïr, yes, that Loki, as in Thor's brother Loki."

Crow stopped to catch a breath, "we're currently recovering from fighting a civil war as well as a war against Gaea at the moment so it might take a while before we become capable of providing much assistance. The good news is it'll also take some time before you'll actually need our help by the way. Oh, and here's the introductory handbook."

The girl was rather straightforward, which was enjoyable, but still, "Why should I trust you?"

"As a goodwill gesture, the unidentified double agents are Monster Donut employees, AKA HYDRA agents. Yes, HYDRA still exists, and is in SHIELD to the highest degree. As in Alexander Pierce is HYDRA. We've only managed to find him out because the children of Hypnos came across his dreams accidentally. Nico di Angelo and Walt have been talking to the dead and some of them have spoken of a HYDRA educational center called the Red Room. That's the only base we're certain is HYDRA, but we don't know where it is, since the eliminated students didn't know where they were, so that's that. Hopefully a dead employee or two will be found, curse the Ancient Laws and immortal bureaucracy, so that Nico will be able to find out its location so we can investigate.

So, what say you to an alliance?"

Fury considered. Any party that could bypass the security of a secret, non-existent base was most possibly one powerful enough to not need subterfuge to achieve its purposes. And if HYDRA was reviving the same facility that trained the Black Widow before Romanoff burnt it to the ground, that meant trouble. He opened the handbook and scanned through the first few pages. Apparently, the demigods were little different than mutants, although suppressants didn't work on them and they had a natural partial immunity to mental manipulation, as well as a concealment mechanism known as the Mist. Their parents were Powerful with a capital P but their influence on mortal affairs was limited. That was why there were demigods. Children literally born for war, although they were also normal teenagers whose extracurricular activities just happened to consist of saving the world.

"Yes."

"Great! Don't worry about bugs, the Mist prevents them from working properly, and though I'm no daughter of Hecate, I'm quite good at making sure no one sees what they shouldn't, though you might want to do something about the bullet hole, I'm good at illusions, but someone's bound to notice eventually."

"I see."

Nick Fury would not press innocent children into service and go against the law, but considering that these children had already gone through wars, had apparent divine origins backing them, and his own organization was compromised by their enemy, he didn't feel remorseful about utilizing the resources offered.

"You're a legacy of Nemesis you know, or don't you remember the woman who promised foresight and insight in exchange for half your sight? The 'an eye for an eye' thing? Also, you have a grandniece, her name's Petra, and she's a child of Neptune, one of the Big Three."

"You said that the Red Room was recruiting. I'm thinking of sending a sleeper in there as a student."

Forest green eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Better send two. I can play off being Loki's child, and Petra would stand a triple chance of being noticed and targeted. So that's why Nyx gave me this."

Out of a pocket, the girl produced a small square of folded paper. Unfolding it once, twice, a total of five times, which should have been impossible, it became a A4 sized file filled with elegant, but easily legible handwriting. On the cover were the words _Petra Fury_ in some sort of fancy script.


	3. Petra

George crept forward nervously. The warm lights above his head didn't help matters. They didn't come from a visible source for one, and for another, there were brown splatters that looked suspiciously like blood stains on parts of the floor.

His partner reached the end of a row of bookshelves filled with arcane texts. Before he could take another step, a child's voice cried, "Stop!"

George froze, and Joe whirled around, bringing his pistol up to point at the owner of the voice. Then, the reason for the warning became apparent as the scene behind them blurred and changed into a macabre patch of stone columns. They saw that the speaker was a girl wearing a mismatched, ill-fitted combination of an Ancient Greek dress and modern pants.

The girl ducked behind the shelf between them. Joe lowered the gun. "Hey," he said softly, we're not going to hurt you, okay?"

A head peeked out from behind cover. "You won't be able to find your way back without me, so I'm going to be all right?" The sentence trailed into a question.

"What do you mean?" George asked, ever the more practical one.

"This is the Archive of Existence. How else do you think that the Librarians from before the times of Cleopatra accessed its contents when it is infinite?" Apparently forgetting that they had just pointed a gun at her, the girl's voice gained a lyrical lilt, "The Archives are divided into tiles that change in location with the passing of time. There is method in its madness, though the Library is sentient, and will change the pattern upon a whim. Be not between tiles when their locations shift, lest you are simultaneously teleported to different locations, resulting in termination of life. I use that action to cut my hair, and occasionally I find shattered pieces of vertebrae and shreds of clothing, the remnants of victims past."

It was creepy, George decided, to hear a child talk like a professor. That said, he wondered how a kid survived in such a dangerous environment without parental supervision for as long as she had, since he could deduce from her clothes that the girl did not wander into the 0-8-4 during the last few months. Lost in thought, he didn't realize that the girl had produced a small book and pulled out a miniscule hourglass hanging on a chain around her neck. Opening her book's cover, the girl's eyes searched the page, fixing on a passage before she shut it and opened it again in the middle. Flipping forward a few pages, she seemed to take note, and then the girl closed, the little tome, turned to the first page, and repeated the process. She did so a total of five times before checking the hourglass with an experienced eye and turning, telling them to follow as she ran deeper into the labyrinthine world of information.

Keeping up easily, they made it onto an adjacent "tile".

"Hang on, kid." Joe said, "Where are you taking us?"

"I'm getting you out." The girl stated matter of factly, "isn't that what you want?"

She looked up at them, "Also, may I have your names?"

"I'm Joe and he's George. As you can see, I am the more handsome one."

The girl tilted her head, "You do know that 'handsome' is more commonly used to describe females and large sums of wealth?"

George saved his partner from the embarrassment of replying, asking, "I never got your name kid, and how come you're here anyway?"

"Oh, apologies, I did not introduce myself. My name is," her brow furrowed as she seemed to try to recall, "Petra Fury. I have been here since I can remember. I am eight or something, I think. My birthday is on the Autumn Equinox."

Fuck. How many people with that _unique_ surname existed in the world, and how many of them were of African American descent? Combine that with the vague familiarity of her features, and the fact that the Petra was in a dangerous, 0-8-4 location that regularly produced fatalities, what could she be but Fury's family?

"Are you all right?" Joe asked, before realization dawned on him. Petra confidently led them in another direction, their surroundings changing from something that could have fit in a Middle-Ages monastery to steel and chrome. The contents of the shelves had changed to plain folders, of the sort that SHIELD used.

"These contain loads of modern information," Petra chirruped, "and I usually use them to tell time outside. I believe that I reside in a time warp, as these files do not change in date until nearly a week has passed for me." Joe snagged one of the files from the shelves as he passed. Perusing it, his face grew grim. "Petra," he asked, "How much of these files have you read?"

"A few every day, to tell time. Sometimes more if numerous similar tiles are linked together. Did you know that some of those '0-8-4s' are truly supernatural in origin, or alien? I matched up references, and numerous ones corresponded with information from Asgard or Xandar."

Which was bad. The shelves contained what seemed to be replicas of every text SHIELD, the CIA, the MIs, and an alphabet soup of other agencies ever had. If information on the Library was ever made public, then it could result in the largest security leak in the history of security. It also meant that Petra had to be kept safe as well, since with their luck, odds were that there would pieces of nuclear launch codes or worse in the young girl's head.

Nearly half an hour had passed when they reached a tile of English books, brightly lit and very normal. The three of them passed through, and they saw a door at the far end. George opened the door and stepped through, followed by Petra and Joe. Something clicked in his mind. He instinctively knew that this was his world, not the creepy, homicidal 0-8-4 he had been investigating. Joe looked slightly worried.

Petra clapped her hands joyfully, "Now that you have returned to your home, I believe it is time for me to return to mine." Turning, she opened the door, but was greeted only by the room on the other side. Looking around, shock spread over the girl's features.

Attempting to compose herself, Petra took a deep breath and said, "It appears that I have lost my way, and will not be able to go home until a door is found. But in the meantime, I suppose I shall be required to find somewhere to live." She bit her lip, "I am unsure though, of the way to do so."

Even if Petra was not a potential security breach, she was an innocent, orphaned kid, and the means of meeting a family member was within his grasp. George couldn't have let the girl wander off to get put into the foster system or worse.

Joe seemed to have the same idea, "No need kid, you're coming with us."

After a few phone calls, they were given the location of a SHIELD agent in the vicinity with sufficient security clearance. Joe hailed a cab, while George lent Petra his jacket to hide her dress. It was large, but still, it stood out less than what she wore underneath.

 _Breathe in, out. Release_. An arrow sped through the air, but its target fell before he was hit.

A white-haired (pure white, not platinum blond) figure came into view, after having thrown the improvised projectile (a brick) that knocked the target out. Furious, the petite woman (she had long hair) kicked the target's prone form, and began rifling through the target's coat, putting the case within arm's reach. That was his cue, the only thing the woman might be interested in was the object of his mission, some sort of Norse artifact that seemed to have appeared with weather patterns indicative of the Bifrost thing Donald-Thor had come to earth in.

There was nary a whisper as the agent walked into the room she was in. The black-market dealer who had _her_ staff was now knocked out, while the idiot who was going to buy it was now running and screaming from illusory beasts, and he would soon get put into a mental asylum (serves him right for attempting to touch her things).

Things were going to the plan. She had made sure that her staff was acquired by the idiot now knocked out before her. Fury had done his part, arranging for an agent to encounter her. Now, time to talk herself onto the Helicarrier. The agent spoke first. "Madam, please step away from the body."

She glared at him. "He's got _my_ staff."

"Really, miss-?"

"Heaven, Heaven Crow. And for your information, I came by it rightfully. My father gave it to me as a congratulations-for-not-being-discovered-tortured-or-killed-by-Asgard present. So, if you have no other business around these parts, _go away_."

She was Lokisdớttir, and she had inherited her father's silver tongue, as well as the Jotun features™. It added a bit of compulsion to her voice, kind of like Saruman, though it wasn't close to Charmspeaker levels. Mostly, she did it to appear a bit more of a threat to Clint. She then looked at the locked case. It was had 12 digits. 12!

Then she let loose expletives in the All-tongue, switching between languages to use all the swearwords she knew (quite a lot, what with an eidetic memory), some of them in fictional dialects, culminating her efforts by bringing her boot down on the thrice accursed plague-ridden case. It dented. The agent, to his credit, did not panic, but he did ask her to step down, so that he could take the case back to his superiors to unlock. Following her acquiescence, he introduced himself as Clint Barton.

Afterwards, it was simple to insist that she be around her staff, if only because she was the person who knew most about the staff (the defensive measures helped too. It took more idiocy than most beings possessed to study a dangerous artifact without the proper countermeasures when putting up with its owner being brought onto a classified base would mean no need for any of that. The fact that she was a kid, a suspected alien, and not suspected of being an infiltrator didn't harm matters).

As a result, Heaven got into SHIELD. Just in time to conceal the only half of a DNA helix thing with the mist.

Keeping an ear out for Fury, the demigod settled into a convenient corner, out of sight, out of mind.

"Sir, the tests are done. Miss Fury is undeniably related to you, and…"

"And what?"

"She's a mutant, and not just a potential. She has shown herself to be able to manipulate water, although her control is somewhat lacking."

"So?"

"You see sir, it wouldn't be safe to keep her with the general population, and that's before factoring in the possible long-term effects of spending one's formative years in an 0-8-4 that, per the subject's own accounts, is sentient and malevolent. Test results indicate that Miss Fury suffers from some form of anti-social personality disorder or autism. She is a nice girl, and considering the circumstances, couldn't have turned out better, but she doesn't have the instinctual sense of good and evil most children have. If the 0-8-4 is as she described, then it is possible that it deliberately ensured that she formed a more grey and ambiguous morality. She also seems to have been exposed to more darkness than is age appropriate, and formed her views accordingly, resulting in her being much more eloquent, skilled-to be frank, disturbingly wise beyond her age-she gave me a detailed analysis on the darkness of man's innate nature based on _Lord of the Flies_ by Golding, and the first book she remembers reading is Elie Wiesel's _Night_ for the Lord's sake!"

"Get to the fucking point if you please, doctor."

"If she is put with normal children, she will be isolated, ostracized, and bullied due to her personality. Teachers won't exactly respond favorably to a child who doesn't fit into their view of a good child and humiliates them easily either. Combine those factors with her hints of antisocial-personality disorder, odds are she'll turn into a full-blown sociopath. While normally not that much of a threat, she also has a non-physical mutation that can be weaponized, Lord knows what latent influences of the 0-8-4 on her, and the knowledge that she has a family member who refused to take her in, and that's without considering that the family member in question is the Director of SHIELD. There's a great possibility that she'll become a threat to world security. If anyone from the darker side of things get wind of her, she'll be a target for manipulation, and many of the more powerful crime organizations would jump at the chance to mold her into a tool for their purposes."

"The point."

"It might be best that you just raise her. Agents Adams and Clark have already told her about you anyways."

"Great, having to raise a potentially sociopathic brat with possible pieces of nuclear codes, information on aliens, classical works and who knows what else bouncing around in her head according to their reports. Just fucking great."

"If it helps sir, she's good at taking care of herself, persuading agents to stay in Medical for longer than they usually do before escaping, and keeping the other kid on base from wreaking havoc."

"It doesn't. Wait, is that-?"

In her corner, the daughter of the god of mischief smirked. Time to meet the one-eyed pirate, daughter of Neptune.


	4. Fuseki

**Yes, Achilles' companion is Patroclus, and I am implying that the two are a couple, that Iphigenia knows, and that she's perfectly okay with it. She was supposed to be marrying out of duty, after all, and love is not a requirement. As far as her mother was concerned, that was sensible, as there would be no hassles or fighting due to cheating and that was the view passed on to Iphigenia. Clytemnestra was a _very_ scary woman.**

 **Quote: "You can fuck whoever you want to fuck, and I will lie with any man I wish, but I shall birth no child that cometh not from thy loins. It shall be _my son_ who is king, and your bastards shall serve my children, and if I find a particularly desirable brat, then I shall claim the child for my own. Thus are my terms, _my lord and husband_ , adapt. _Or I shall slit the throat of every whore-bitch you touch_."**

 **As you can see, there was a reason that Iphigenia was willing and able to kill in order to not marry the king of the land. Now she's the grandniece of Nicholas Fury, and soon to be protégé of Arnim Zola. Be afraid.**

 _It was her father's strategist who held her, gently, but he was no fool-his grip was such that if she resisted, his hands would tighten and immobilize her. He needn't have bothered. She had no reason, nor any right to struggle. Her father angered a Goddess, it was only right that they atoned. Her uncle had a war to fight, and she was the youngest of her father's daughters. Her sisters were marriageable, fair in complexion and disposition and mother had already found them good matches. Achilles, though well meaning, was a general in the army, and he had his companion, he didn't need a wife, and if he wanted one, well, he was fighting a war against Priam, who had many beautiful daughters. A spoil-bride could be easily procured. The armies watched as father flicked water onto her head and she automatically nodded her acceptance (she would have done so anyway). Then, he cut a few stray hairs from her head, tossed them into the fire, before he raised his arm to slit her throat. Her heart was racing, she was terrified. She had been dedicated to one of the Twelve, so would the Necron Soter have a claim on her soul, or would she would still belong to the Basileis?_

 _The last thing she saw was her father's eyes, filled with sorrow, but still determined. Then her vision filled with silver light._

Petra Fury shot awake to the soothing darkness of the cabin she shared with Heaven. Unconsciously, she fingered the Papier-mâché Nightmare lure about her neck.

She had managed to seek for knowledge from Sources Arcane. It was regarded as an ill-advised endeavor by the authors of various mythical texts due to the heavy price such beings extracted. One author also made a note about the "location of psychic conflict". According to Heaven, it meant home-turf, and there was second-guessing involved as well, which was rather interesting.

Regardless, she had gotten what she asked for, the last piece of a puzzle to create a rift in reality. Heaven's magical experience and her background mystical knowledge was sufficient to create the structure of the spell, and research was enough to fill the other necessary components in. The keystone item was a focus of sorts. Fortunately, anything with an identity would count. Residual energy from the Library-Archives might actively help, and perhaps, she might just find a way back. But she wouldn't take it. Granduncle was a nice person, and he needed what help he could get, since no one else knew anything about the mystical. A demon could possess him quite easily if it wanted, or just be dormant in an agent's body until such time it chose to strike. If that happened in multiple locations simultaneously, then the results would be _devastating_. SHIELD would fall, and gran-uncle's life's work would be destroyed, which would be bad. Because granduncle was a good person, and she didn't want grunkle to feel sad, or worse, helpless.

But even though the inhuman entity known as the Library of Alexandria had raised her for a specific purpose, and was willing to cast her out into the wide world to learn, it had been almost parental, was quite protective, and she missed its familiar presence.

"Hey," Heaven interrupted her thoughts, switching on the lights, "thinking profound philosophical thoughts of the emo variety again, P?"

Seeing Petra's expression, the older girl made a face. "I really don't get why you are always so ridiculously morbid. I get being raised by a supernatural sentience with a blue and orange morality. I can also infer from my origins that I exist due to an ulterior motive on that being's part, but what I don't get is why you keep mourning the loss. I mean, mom wasn't bad, but she wasn't exactly prime mother material, and even if she was, I wouldn't mourn or miss her for as long as you've been moping. I mean, there's no use, and it makes you feel bad too!"

Petra tilted her head, "What were your origins?"

Heaven stuck out her tongue, "Typical! After all my efforts, the only thing you're curious about is how I came to be? I had a whole elaborate speech on letting it go planned, complete with interpretive dance to keep you from getting bored-fine, because I found it funny-

Dad was younger then, and like you, he was making questionable deals with questionable beings. One of those deals was with dear old mum. His firstborn in exchange for something or other, blah blah blah, the standard load of tripe. He didn't have a kid yet, so, she um, how do I keep this PG? Ah, yes, 'took him to bed'. After a lot of awesome procreation, they produced me.

Mum apparently wanted a kid with dad 'cause his kid would be of quote, 'superior stock'. Mother didn't want to bother with taking care of a child once she realized how much work it was going to be, so, after teaching me enough to survive in this world, she kicked me out. My dear uncles were incompetent, and grandpa was a pushover as well, you see, so they didn't object to mum deciding on having an organic, free-range kid to use as a secret weapon to be.

Horrible, right?"

The other girl nodded. "I'm… sorry?" She offered hesitantly. Heaven giggled.

It was the correct thing to say! Petra wasn't sure until this point. According to the books she read, if the person was sad after telling a tale, one should comfort him or her. If she or he laughed, one should laugh with the person. But though Heaven's story seemed to be a sad one, Heaven wasn't close to depressed, yet what the books told her was that in such cases, it usually meant the speaker was hiding her pain well. They also told her that it was best not to pry. Yet they also said one should try to be sympathetic too. It was all so confusing, so Petra settled on being sorry while trying to make Heaven laugh. Other than that, a distraction would be good. Luckily, there was one in reach.

"The final piece of the spell is a focal point. A sentient." The nine-year-old said, slightly nervous. "I think that I can act as a focal point."

Heaven clapped her hands. "Great! So, let's get started _after_ breakfast."

"Not right away?"

"Breakfast is a holy time, young padawan."

"…All right…?"

* * *

Nyx stood, tall, imposing, and proud, before the assembled divinities of Olympus as they rose to greet her. She noted that a few of them were rather tense. They were the ones who had the misfortune of being stuck with a few HUs (House Units) of forms to fill out before her arrival.

Ah, bureaucracy, such an effective tool in the bloodless warfare of diplomacy.

" **Hail, ye gods of Olympus. I come to the trial of My vassal, brother to one of My court, Right Hand to My Daughter, Queen of the Court of Day.** "

Apollo, miserable, shot Her a grateful look. Despite eons, still a child; his sister was more mature. Zeus Katharsios sat enthroned, with Themis of Justice beside him.

"My son Apollo endangered Olympus with his blatant favoritism of the legacy Octavian. Such acts went directly against the decree of his King, and skirted narrowly the lines drawn by Ancient Law." Zeus Basileus boomed, and the charges were levelled.

In answer, She inclined Her head, expression serene. " **Yet are there alliances stronger, than those forged in strife and turmoil? One must lance the wound afore it may heal, thus also, is it not, with the affairs of demigods and mortals? Apollo has skirted My Laws with impetuosity, and for that recompense shall be extracted. Yet, lest ye forget, Zeus Katharsios, thou art he of Ritual Purification, and Apollo's offence is that of spirit, not of the Word. Consequently, Ancient Law applies little, and his sins may be shrived, for there is no intent of the Law, only the binding Word.** "

The throne room darkened.

" **War cometh. The Dark riseth. Olympus must be united. My Will is thus: let Apollo be permitted to atone without harm caused to order, and let the Twelve stand strong."**

Absolute darkness, pierced only by the light of the stars within her bodice, and the light of the siblings of sun and moon. Then, the shadows lifted, and She was gone. The Silent One was somewhat amused, sending Her a message through their shared realm. _Still favoring dramatic exits, Queen of Night? The briefness is appreciated, by the way, I detest having to sit through tedious hours of verbal warfare._

Then the Lord of the Dead sent her a, what did the teenagers of this day and age call them? -"emoticon".

Her lips would have twitched in amusement if she had corporeal from.

* * *

Petra found her granduncle exiting a meeting room, and rushed up to him excitedly. "We managed to create tear in reality!" The girl told her parent figure*

*Although that the "parental qualities" were somewhat suspect, since the first and only time she asked him to read a bedtime story to her, he managed to stuff a children's book full of inappropriate invectives

excitedly, before glancing at the files other agents were holding. "Are they going to Ireland? If they are, there's a church that they should investigate. According to what seems to have been the warrior's own tales, there is a third of an actual Asgardian Berserker Staff concealed within. I think the Asgardian in question will be living in the adjacent area. I think you should relocate it to a safer spot, it can greatly lower the inhibitors of those who touch it, granting violent strength at the cost of one's peace of mind and body, in a way similar to the Winter Mantle Heaven's been talking about."

That garnered the Director's attention. "Clarify, Petra."

The nine-year old nodded, "Yes granduncle. The Berserker Staff was first brought to Earth at the birth of that language which is now referred to as Middle English, the 12th century, I think, when Asgardian forces were summoned to fight in battle upon Earth. After the campaign was over and done, one Asgardian remained on Earth, favoring our world's ever-shifting nature. Fearing discovery by the all-seeing one, as well as the abuse of his staff's power, he split it and hid the pieces in places three. One is in a monastery in Ireland, where his lover once dwelled. One is in a tree, where its influence was felt, and one in a church that has long since fell. That piece is in Ireland, in a monastery. Heaven says that if she can get one piece, she might be able to find the rest."

"And you believe her?"

"With all due respect granduncle," Petra replied, crossing her arms and again appearing much older than she was, "Until recent events transpired, I dwelt in a sentient Library which itself resided within a fold in time, requiring little sustenance and being sustained by its Will. It disapproved of modern and high fantasy, as well as campfire tales, ensuring that all literature with which I came into contact served a purpose in molding my identity to its ideals. None of which include a belief in that which does not exist."

"I see. If the agents are available, I'll drop them a line." Fury grumbled, but as always, it was better safe than sorry, and Thor's appearance had already shaken things up. Besides, he would be arranging his grandniece's kidnapping and fall into enemy hands soon, he might as well indulge the kid when there weren't any consequences. The fact that the twin terrors in his base managed to create a few probability-bending events didn't exactly harm his decision to be open-minded.

"Alright, granduncle." Petra burst into a smile, "Thank you."

"Walking right over me, brat."

Yet again, the girl demonstrated the fact that she had been raised in completed isolation, as her face crumpled with guilt.

"Sorry!"

"That was a joke."

"Oh!" and Petra's face brightened again. "So, lunch? There exists such a variety of cuisine in the cafeteria, and I have yet to try them all! Some are too odd though, like that fishy salad." The eight-year-old scrunched her nose at the thought.

"Petra, I have work."

The kid nodded, focused on her shoes for a moment, and then tilted her head. "I shall be eating with Heaven and Agent Barton then, I presume."

Fury nodded, and upon seeing his grandniece's expression, put a hand to her shoulder, "I'll walk you there. Tell me about what the Medical turned up today."

"We did the normal tests on how much water that I could control, as well as how well, and we also discovered that I am capable of sensing water, although that ability is limited. I seem to have certain resilience to water-caused injuries, and it appears to be directly related to the size of the water body. Further tests may require our location to be upon water to prove or disprove the theory.

In that vein, why are we flying into the Arctic regions?"

"...Classified."

Something about his child was just as effective as Romanoff for interrogations, an innocence that caught one off guard (numerous junior agents had already fallen victim). If Theta worked, then that quality would be honed into a deadly tool in the arsenal of an even deadlier weapon, who would provide the world with a chance to burn HYDRA to the ground, once and for all. At the cost of the bright life in the eyes of his only child. A hard choice in a life of hard choices, and one with an answer that was already clearer than most.

He would give his grandniece a choice though. He could do that at least, for family. _And he ignored the voice pointing out that without choice, Theta would have a higher chance of backfiring, although considering Petra's nature, her instinctive choice might have been to contribute to Theta, even without prior consent._

There was still a few months before Theta could be implemented, which was why he was allowing the tests of Petra's abilities-to attract the attention of HYDRA's "recruiting" personnel.

Until then, there could be a touch more laughter in the world.

* * *

Even as the gods discussed Apollo's sentence, Nyx glided through "Camp Half-blood's" barrier. Staphylites knew of Her arrival immediately, so when She arrived at the pavilion, the war-bred youths were armed and prepared for battle.

The Son of the Shallows had drawn sword, and he stood at the fore of. Commendable bravery, but such ignorance. Unheard by those of mortal born, Artemis reported that Apollo's trial was almost finished.

By the choosing of Dusk, _Nigeri_ was accomplished. Time now, for _Fuseki._

 **Yes, Petra has just pointed SHIELD towards part of the Berserker Staff. SHIELD will take the two pieces that were in crypts and keep surveillance on the piece in the tree. HYDRA allowed the hate group to slip in unnoticed, since they would cause chaos, fear, conflict etcetera.**

 **The Winter Mantle is a _Dresden_ _Files_ reference. I will be using Butcher's Faerie Courts as the template for my version of the Fay.**

 **So, that's that, Read and Review Please!**

 **Next chapter already uploaded, it'll be posted on July 7th.**


	5. A Call to Arms

Percy breathed hard, still tense from the appearance of the most terrifying of the beings he encountered in Tartarus. After the protogenos disappeared, Chiron had called a counselor's meeting. As testament to the impression Nyx left, none of the counselors had played any pranks on each other, and even Clovis was awake. Granted, he was staring empty-eyed at Clarisse (which either meant he was not fully coherent, or, he was even more obtuse than Percy was, given that Clarisse was death-glaring at him), but he wasn't snoring on the ping-pong table.

"I knew that she was too easily defeated in Tartarus." Annabeth growled, "I should've expected 'the Lady of Shadows' to have a plan in place when she let us go, especially since we didn't even have more nightmares than usual after we came back. You didn't sense Nightmares after Tartarus either, right?"

Percy shook his head, "No, and the Fates, her daughters, _helped us_ against the giants. In hindsight, that doesn't make sense either. If she was a goddess, why would she have helped us? I mean, even Hera made her cows leave 'little presents' for you after the Labyrinth version 1.0!"

"It doesn't measure up." Annabeth agreed, "we had a lot of assistance from her children, Thanatos, Nemesis, the Fates, as you said, Hades, even Eros! And Nyx is notorious for being powerful to the point that in the Trojan war, when Hypnos fled from Zeus' wrath, Zeus didn't dare chase him he fled to Nyx. And what does Oresa Torezodu mean? Chiron?"

Her old mentor was grim. "It's written into Ancient Law. A call to arms, so to speak, against darkness. As Eldest and Night's Queen, Nyx does have the authority. She has commanded us by Ancient Law to prepare and engage in war. The gods are bound to answer her call, as they've more than gone against the Law after World War Two, they don't dare to disobey, not unless they wish to face severe repercussions."

"The Law has to be enforced, doesn't it? Can't we just appeal to the ones who enforce it to stop Nyx from forcing us into another war?" Will Solace protested.

"If only it were that simple." Boudicca Adams, daughter of Nemesis laughed, short and bitter. "Granny dearest _wrote_ the Laws, and Her House enforces it. _That's_ why mom makes sure we all _memorize_ them.

Besides," the look on the older girl's face was even darker than before, "grandmother's Aegis is beneficial to the world at large. If it wasn't for her, there would be loads more apocalypses, minor supernatural incursions, and worse. Then there is the Adversary."

"Not Satan, I hope."

"Clarisse, this is not the time to be joking around."

"But we don't have time for this 'shadowy adversary' nonsense. According to satyrs, demigods have been disappearing, as well as mutants under twenty—" Katie Gardner cut in.

"—and that brings us to the second part of our goddess related problems." Connor said, "'a minor sacrifice' she says, and she points us at 'the mortal foe that is the root of all the problems faced after the war', HYDRA. Including, apparently, the disappearance issue."

"So, a mortal threat and a supernatural war on the horizon. Great!" Snarled Clarisse.

Chiron sighed, appearing old, old and weary. "Demigods were originally born for war. War, not battle, not campaigns. War, with spies, strategists, subterfuge and lies. Not just soldiers. Demigods guard mortals from the immortals, as evidenced by our weapons, Celestial Bronze that will not harm mortal flesh. But now, mortals have themselves become threats. We have a duty to protect the innocent, as well as our own. Unlike monsters, we must combat those threats in the shadows.

This is not like the second titanomachy, nor the second gigantomachy, in this war that we must fight there is no mastermind, no keystone piece. This is an organization held together by a shared ideology, and if the last World War is any indication, they will stand by their motto. This is not just a hidden battle, this is a war of the shadows, a war of spies!"

* * *

"I will, granduncle." Petra said. She had fallen back into her habit of directing her gaze steadily at the speaker's eyes during Fury's exposition. "I am obligated by familial duty to assist. I misstated—I apologize—" She stuttered and looked down, "I'm—am not obligated to do anything—apolog—sorry—I misstated again. I recognize that I have a duty, as you are family. I choose, onaccountofmultiplefactorstoenactmyduty."

Taking a deep breath, the eight-year-old jerked her shoulders down, "I am a Fury. My duty be done. And if needs must, I am, in the end, Iphigenia."

 _I now know of an enemy which I may oppose. How can I stand back and watch now that I know of it? It is my duty—how can I not fulfil my duty? There has never been a case of any protagonist benefitting from shirking her duty. Are granduncle's actions manipulation? But is it manipulation when he just informed me of the truth? What is the accurate, objective definition anyways?_

 _Mind is cold, Heart is hot. Opus primus, duty first. Duty, duty, duty, dutydutydutydutydutyduty_.

I'm Heaven Crow. I'm not human. I'm a demigod twice over, Greek on mom's side, and Asgardian-slash-Jotun on dear old dad's. I like comics, trickster stuff, pop lit, and anime-slash-manga. Currently, I'm using SHIELD's unlimited WIFI to watch Assassination Classroom, which, I think is quite ironic, considering the circumstances. I mean, though the Red Room isn't at all like 3-E, it's students are going to be learning to kill. Odds are, the students will be street kids or older teenagers who ran away from home.

I've spent enough time among them to know that no one important would notice if they went missing, but mom's threatened me with being thrown onto the streets enough times before she actually threw me onto the streets that I'd become desensitized to it. Wait, that's not how desensitization works is it? No matter, as I said, I'm not human, my head doesn't work like a human head, and I don't fricking care.

Surprised? I don't think so. Not every not human human-looking being is wangsty over not being human, having a human's morality, blah blah blah, all that load of tripe, as any genre-savvy gal can tell you. People get tired of suffering all that complaining and moaning and groaning. I'm not Angel(us), or gods forbid, Edward Cullen.

I'd like to fancy myself the Akabane Karma to P's Shiota Nagisa, though granted, I prefer playing up the ice motif instead of fire, Judecca's biting cold reflected, not in wasabi and ghost chilis, but menthol and camphor. Yep, I'm proudly mother's brat, and in the crazy manner of our family, I backstab and deceive and trick and lie to mommy dearest without any guilt. That might be mom's fault, since she's the one who taught me to do so. Nyx did too, but she's actually proud of me. I guess it's rather telling when the notorious cold bitch-slash-iron lady is more caring than your own mother. Mom's the goddess of snow for a reason, and she wears that on the surface. Nyx, as far as I can tell, is much more pragmatic, so she makes you like her until, wham! She betrays you when the situation calls for it. In short, you can trust her with the fate of the world, but not with the fate of individuals. Just like Fury. Poor P, every higher-up she has is the same.

Anyways, I'm rambling. Can you blame me? —this is the first time I've gotten an opportunity to practice talking to people in psycho mode face to face—the plan for Theta is for me to draw attention as the crazy rebel (Nyx suggested that I just pretend to be Fae [a changeling]), while P plays goody-two-shoes. I think the goody-two-shoes part is because that's what Dusk will have to do, but don't take my word for it, I'm just the spirit of winter, huh, pun! Spirit of winter, Spirit of Winter!

* * *

Nyx clicked her fingers. An _arai_ appeared and bowed. She smiled, "go forth, daughter, there is an automobile accident that you shall arrange."


	6. Anticipation

Hey bods, it's me again, Heaven, your occasional commentator on spy-y affairs! First, where am I? Sadly, as much as I would've liked to have front row seats in the craziest dysfunctional family sitcom ever, watching Grumpy Grandpa Fury (now that's a traumatizing mental image) telling lil' P about the Fury Family ValuesTM, like assuming making an ass out of u and me, and some paranoia a day keeping the moles at bay, I am stuck at the Tesseract research base, on the assumption that if dad's been brainwashed into fighting for the world's first crazy psycho (You don't believe me? Look at his name! He calls himself the Mad Titan for my sake!), he'll be coming in this way.

Now, recap. After her assignment from Fury, P was, crazily enough, much more confident. Or at least, she isn't tentative and questioning and blushing about anymore. I think that the prospects of having a systematic education on humans is less scary for her than having to learn through observation, and maybe P's actually feeling better about knowing that she won't be normal anyway, so she's been acquiring confidence in her powers, though the less said about people skills, the better. P's ridiculously adorkable, like a weeks-old kitten. It's hard to believe that she's the daughter of one of THE Most Powerful gods in mom's pantheon, and the principal servant of THE Most Powerful Entity in the universe. Unfair, utterly unfair. I inherited dad's looks and mom's powers and my technical-stepdad's personality, so I when I first met crazy mortals (read: Twihard Fangirls), they thought that I was a vampire with the Frost Giant eyes and *ahem* 'perfect' looks. Apparently, mom didn't want an ugly kid, nor a weak one, so, eugenics! And let's just forget that Hitler used eugenics as the reason for ethnocide. Though to be frank, I kinda understand mom wanting a looker for a kid, since she didn't use me for anything other than to show off, even when it would have been so very useful to have a kid do her dirty work during the Giant War 2.0. Godly arrogance and egos. Huh.

On the bright side, P and I've finally perfected theoretically undetectable long-distance simultaneous communication (TULDSICO AKA toad-sicko). Unfortunately, we haven't managed to get it to transmit sound properly. The last time we tried, the movements were simultaneous too. As a result, the bloody thing kept matching the Helicarrier's movements and going through walls. P got the idea that we could change the thing into a tracking device, but as far as I'm concerned, it'll be too much work, and P's forgetting that normal people won't also understand how the tracker system works. Sometimes, being raised by a semi-omniscient spirit of knowledge shows. (According to a few psychiatrists, P still being this way after all this time might mean some sort of empathy disorder. The a-hole agents who heard about it presumably debated on whether P was autistic or a psycho.)

Currently, P's on the helicarrier, after looking all lost n' forlorn when Fury went onto earth due to the good cap being found, and compiling _The Basic Theoretical and Practical Guide to Supernatural and Superhuman Occurrences, First Edition_. Now, according to the simultaneous notebooks we're using (we're producing a version for SHIELD agents that are made of a sheet of EZ-clean material—a simultaneous blackboard, basically), P's hanging out with the scientists, and talking to fish and helping out whenever SHIELD is dealing with underwater stuff, since being undrownable, unlosable, super maneuverable and fast-ish in water open up whole new worlds of stuff scientists can now do with P's help. I'm quite sure that if it weren't for safety reasons, they would be begging Fury to let P take them down to the great blue deeps so that they can see under the sea in person. As it is, I've been reliably informed that Fury's had to deny requests for P to go down to the seabed with a camera and a set of specimen collecting equipment by at least three pressure-stuff physicists, two biologists, and a scientist in a pair of glasses. You were supposed to read the last half of the sentence to the tone of _Twelve days of Christmas_ , by the way. And isn't sending a minor into unexplored depths considered child labor/endangerment?

Anyways, that's that on P, I think—wait a sec, forgot. P's managed to talk to her Library Dad/Mom/Agender parental figure by dreamwalking, but it was a one-time thing, perhaps due to Nyx's involvement and the stars' alignment. Hasn't stopped her from getting cheery for a bit and then getting depressed though.

On my side, there's a lot less stuff. Clint's come over, Selvig and the rest of the scientists are getting excited, and Fury's coming for a visit next week. Bad idea, Director. By the laws of fate, drama and irony, that'll be when dad comes by to invade. Hopefully, dad doesn't complain about custody. I'll make a note to ask P if Fury and SHIELD count as fosterers.

* * *

Things Petra Fury knows:

1\. She misses the Library _._ _(It's all right though. She has found a room that vibrates from the engines. It is not the sentient presence of the Library, but the sounds of the engines wrap around her warmly, and she can feel, if she closes her eyes and thinks very hard, as if the helicarrier is alive too, and that thought makes her feel safe, and even if it hurts for a bit when she leaves the comforting familiarity, at least she can feel, for a bit, like she's home.)_

2\. She is an old soul. _(She remembers lives other than hers, can call to mind effortlessly chants in Greek to gods long forgotten, spells of binding, banishment and summoning (the keystone component was Will, occasionally reinforced with emotion), and the feeling of hot blood spurting onto her hands, the smell of burning flesh and hair. But she remembers a mother who loved her fiercely, and taught her to deceive, lie and scheme. She also remembers being much older, walking the paths she wandered during childhood, but the shelves were yet to be scorched, and there were people in the Library, but those nice dreams would soon turn to horror, as she was bound naked while a mob wielding crosses and sharp seashells tore off her skin. Death, sweet death, was mercy. But even as she died, she felt the Library scream in anguish and rend as it tore itself from reality.)_

3\. Names and titles hold power. The fish call her Daughter of the Deeps, and Bastard Princess too.

4\. Most importantly, granduncle had given her a mission, and she will complete her mission.

5\. She wants to control her heart and use her mind, but it's hard.

Things Petra Fury has learnt this week:

1\. Being ignored wasn't bad, according to Agent Coulson.

2\. Magnets stick to Agent Garrett.

3\. Agent Garrett is always interested in what she can do, as evidenced by how Agent Garrett put down all his paperwork to help her with her navigation.

Things Petra Fury has accomplished:

1\. She has succeeded in negotiating a contract with Hell. Not a demon, Hell itself. No avenger would succeed in selling his or her soul. No agent of SHIELD with level three clearance or up, either.

2\. And the Hell's Regent and General, Azazel of the Fallen, was very gracious with the deal. In return for the immunity, his price was three questions asked and answered at a date of his choosing.

3\. She now could make water adhere _precisely_ to her will now. It cost more in mental strength, but it was less taxing on her resources (which, unfortunately, were inherently shallow due to her age and physicality).

4\. She had finished recording all the solid information (or at least what she could remember consistently) on the supernatural, and there was just a page or two left in the theory part.

* * *

The Oracle of Delphi's mouth opened, and green smoke spewed forth.

Demigods heard the clearest prophecy ever to be recorded, merely rhymed instructions to observe an unrecorded base.

The off-the-books nature had been confirmed by hacking, and since the resident ghost whisperer AKA Nico di Angelo had confirmed the casualty filled nature of the experiments that were done, they were quite sure it was a non-official base conducting unethical experiments, and, considering that most of the shadier businesses presumably had a HYDRA finger in their pie, intel on HYDRA could be gained.

And on the counsel of a few adult demigods who were working in SHIELD, and confirmed to be non-HYDRA, the camps would wait before acting, while gathering allies in the form of House of Life magicians and the more benign supernatural entities, who, even if tied up in personnel, had much greater resources in the form of safehouses—Nomes, and intelligence networks.

Omake:

"Alright, if we're going to be turning ourselves into a spy organization, we will need cool codenames! Also, we can't keep calling HYDRA 'hydra', there're already three of those monsters prowling outside camp borders!"

"Right, so any suggestions?"

"COBRA?"

"How much GI joe did you watch? No! Absolutely not!"

"It looks like something Lovecraft would like, with the tentacles and all."

"That would inspire fear, so no eldritch abomination names either."

"Octopus?"

"Good choice, but a bit too mundane, and a bit obvious."

"I've got it! Squidward Tentacles!"

"Hmmmm…."

 **Your opinion?**


	7. Changeling

I knew it. And I fucking told you. Dear old dad's come to town just as Fury's come deal with the thrice-damned Tesseract, to quote Selvig, "misbehaving".

As you can see, the situation is putting me just _slightly_ on edge, as my absent, visited-just-twice-in-a-decade negligent father has just spent Nyx knows how long at the hands of the guy who's the poster for horrible parenting™, and—yes, I know it's selfish—I can't help but wonder what'll happen to me. Knowing villains, it's either being turned into a hostage or *ahem* forcibly recruited. And, out of a sense of self-preservation, since being brainwashed and traumatized after heroically resisting for a bit won't exactly be a pleasant experience, I'd toe the party line and—gahhh—comply.

So, now, everything's going badly, dad's killed a few guys, and fu—dad's got a scepter-spear-thingy that he's using to mind control Clint, turning his eyes blue. The good news is that Fury has the Tesseract, and dad's still preoccupied.

The sensible thing to do right now would be to sneak out, but well, P'd be devastated if her Grunkle was lost, and apparently, there's some sort of family curse on the Fury line, kind of like the Stark "there must always be a Stark at Winterfell" thingy, that means that there'll always be a Fury in the shadows, doing spy-stuff but hopefully not starting a DC League of Assassins, so Fury kicking the bucket would mess stuff up by a lot, though, to be honest, I think you just can't kill Fury, and the most you could get would be a near miss, like a getting his eye or arm or something, or perhaps just throwing him out the window of a skyscraper with Force Lightning.

So, back to present, stop wandering, brain! I did the heroically stupid thing and walked into dad's line of sight, took a deep breath, put my hands on my hips, and yelled, "Hey dad, finally come to visit?"

Laugh all you want, it's actually quite hard to come up with properly insulting things on the fly, and I at least got his attention. Dad looked at me, a bit surprised, before, and I am not joking, stuffing me into another dimension!

Then, without acknowledging me at all, he continued on his merry rampage, and no matter what I did, I was always next to him, even when he got onto the truck and his band of mind-controlled puppets got onto the truck and out of the base.

Why did I decide to play hero in the first place?

* * *

The first thing Petra Fury did when she heard that Heaven had been taken by her father was to throw her notebook overboard. The second was to run to her granduncle ask how she could help.

Provided with videos and what reports she had clearance for, she was assigned to figuring out the mechanism of Loki's mind control. It was simple, the eye-color change was quite a clear indicator of the mechanism, and the brothers of death were the solution which almost all relevant materials agreed on. There were mentions of rowan and ash in some fragments of text which she had, with the assistance of the Library, managed to decipher when she was five-six-seven, but they could be considered irrelevant. So, she made her report to granduncle-director Fury about her results, and then she kept to the periphery of people's awareness like Agent Coulson taught her, quiet and beneath notice. She was very good at that, and very proud of herself for that.

Then granduncle lost his coat to the winds, so she dove into the water to retrieve it. Just as she was trying to figure out how to get back up onto the deck, Agent Romanoff flew by in a quinjet with the door open.

"Hey kiddo," she called, "get in."

Agent _Romanoff_ was offering _her_ a hand.

Matching the speed of the quinjet, Petra caught the proffered hand and was pulled aboard, barely remembering to dry herself off when she emerged from the water.

Agent Romanoff looked at the coat in her right hand, and raised an eyebrow, "So the Director's lost his coat again, eh?"

Petra nodded earnestly in agreement, "Yes ma'am—agent—?" and blushed, thankful that her dark skin hid it somewhat.

"Agent's fine." Agent Romanoff said, smiling slightly. "Dr. Banner, Petra Fury, our resident consultant on supernatural affairs—Miss Fury, Bruce Banner, a temporary consultant and the world's leading expert in gamma ray research."

The man, who was just as good at not being noticed, smiled and waved nervously. She returned the gesture.

"So, uh, I saw you diving from the Helicarrier earlier, and why aren't you wet, or um, hurt?" He asked.

Petra was unsure as to how to answer, as Director Fury had stressed the importance of keeping secrets, and she was unsure if her abilities counted as classified information. The scientists usually knew, but other agents rarely did, and even among the ranks of the scientifically inclined, knowledge was mostly restricted to those whose expertise lay in biological disciplines.

Agent Romanoff cut in with a simple, "Petra is a powered individual."

Dr. Banner let the subject drop. Was this due to social propriety or something else? The scientists were usually much more inquisitive, but they were scientists, who by definition were required to be curious. Dr. Banner was a scientist as well, but he specialized in a different aspect of science, perhaps that affected his curiosity?

They landed aboard the Helicarrier, and disembarked without issues. Petra was quite excited.

* * *

My life sucks. This time, after being _kidnapped_ by my own _father_ , I developed cats' eyes, shark teeth, and a spontaneous allergy to iron.

In other words, I just discovered that my mom was a Faerie, and the spell she used to hide me as a demigod (it didn't work very well, since it was pretty obvious that I wasn't normal even if my changeling status were hidden) has failed, and that I am a changeling who is leaning towards my Faerie side.

Which explained things, like Khione not making me do her dirty work, the dad trading his firstborn thing, and the white hair instead of raven.

I suppose I'm not making any sense, so I'd best start from the beginning. Basically, after dad un-dematerialized me, I started yelling at him. Stuff happened, I told dad that since he was just as horrible as mom, I would rather be Heaven Crow, daughter of neither, than Morgaine Lokidottir/Borealis, and yeah, my real name's Morgaine, surname Borealis-Lokidottir or the other way around, dunno, I didn't pay attention when fake-mom was going on and on about etiquette, besides, that name is ridiculously pretentious, and I am _not_ calling myself that.

Anyways, apparently words have power, so I nearly disowned myself. Dad tried to get me to stop, and managed to do so. By that time though, whatever illusion-glamour-thingy that was on me was broken, and I had halfway chosen, by order of elimination, my true-born mother's court, so now I'm at least half faerie, and combing that with being raised by Khione, I'm a changeling in every way that counts. Crazy, right?

And that explains Nyx suggesting changeling as a cover. I bet She's laughing her head off right now.

* * *

If you fail, perhaps your spawn would be of greater service to Lord Thanos, _godling_.

* * *

You think that Leia and Luke had it bad? My dad is much worse than Vader. He's smarter, mind-controlled-crazy, and instead of forcing me to have a state dinner with him I get to go _to a gala_ with dad as a 'father-daughter bonding activity'. And don't get me started on the prep work—we spent FIVE HEMORRHAGING* HOURS on my outfit.

* * *

*bleeding doesn't cut it.

* * *

Seriously dad? I know you're mind controlled and all, and perhaps trying to sabotage the giant prune on the other end by using _the_ most cliché villain plan ever, but did you have to go on and on about the, and I quote, "fitting attire of the rightful princess of Asgard and Midgard", and then making me try on hundreds, and I'm not exaggerating here, hundreds of outfits when I wouldn't even be mingling with guests, only staying for however long it'd take for you to begin your evil plan™? (Dad was using illusions and magic to skip the whole fitting process).

Unfortunately, I inherited dad's tastes, so we agreed on the wearing nothing puffy part, but dad wants me to wear his colors, considering that he's the only parent present. I countered that he basically sold me to mom, and he had the audacity to look GUILTY! After much fighting, we managed to settle on mom's colors for jewelry (thanks dad, for not telling me that I am a CHANGELING, and leading me to believe that I wasn't just Khione's fosterling but her daughter, leading to my current predicament of cat's eyes and a vulnerability to iron) and dad's colors for the dress.

Then we fought about everything. The style, the cut, the design, the material, the length, the patterns, the gemstones, everything. It was _torture_. Dad managed to be unceasingly enthusiastic, and while I appreciate the buying time thing, my only consolation is that dad's ride along titan would be suffering as well, as I'm quite sure that kill-happy-warlords would hate having to sit through FIVE HOURS of dresses even more than me.

But appearing amiable is usually a sensible course of action for not getting killed, considering that dad is sorry, so, putting on a cheerful expression as we walked towards the gala, I said, "Honestly dad, P'd like this a lot more than I would. Though granted, she's a bit on the odd side, what with being raised by the creepy homicidal Archive of Existence and all."

Dad's eyes flashed. Shit. I meant for dad to get interested in P, not Thanos. Hopefully P'll listen to my advice and fold when threatened, so she won't be mind-controlled, but dad might work his mojo on P, or worse.

* * *

"Dr. Banner is only here to track the cube." Gruncle said as he turned the corner, "I was hoping you might join him."

"Let's start with that stick of his It may be magical, but it works an awful lot like a Hydra weapon." Captain Rogers put in.

"I don't know about that, but it is powered by the cube. And I'd like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys." Gruncle replied, and then, gesturing for her to speak, said, "Petra."

"Hang on," Anthony Stark said, "What's a kid doing here?"

"She is here to consult on this situation, and it's already past her bedtime, Stark, so keep your fucking mouth shut and don't interrupt."

Addressing Petra, granduncle told her to continue.

Petra nodded, slightly nervous to be presenting to others. "Yes, Gra-Director."

She then pulled up two images on the pad, both of Clint's eyes.

"As you can see, the eye colors have changed in the duration of Loki's ensorcellment of this agent . This change is the clear indicator of mind control using non-technological means. Such forms of mystical mind control can be further divided into two categories—one, possession; and two, puppeteering. The second can be broken by the brothers three, death and his siblings the little deaths—love and slumber."

At that point, Anthony Stark held back a sound of amusement.

"As death, quite obviously, is out of question, since resurrection is rarely possible and never cost-effective on a mass scale, and love is finicky at the very best, sleep is the most practical solution.

Effective unconsciousness may be achieved through a blow to the head or a sedative. If neither is possible, severe disorientation may also be sufficient to break the mind control. As I can not identify whether Loki is using possession or puppeteering, it is best to be restrain the recipient until waking, at which point confirmation of the eradication of the alien influence should take place."

Petra finished a bit out of breath, but she did not stumble or stutter, so she was satisfied with her achievement.

"Thank you, Petra, you can go to bed. Now, to everyone else, what she means is that if you run into anyone with Tesseract blue eyes, knock them the fuck out."

Stark muttered, "Fury and bedtime?"

* * *

Petra was nervous, so she slept in her day clothes, and upon waking, put on her shoes, threw on a slightly too large jacket (the Helicarrier's supplies did not have clothes her size, so she had to make do with the smallest available) and sought granduncle in the Helicarrier, pausing to bring her 'pad. Finding him free, she pulled out her pad, pulled up the requisite pictures, and started voicing her suspicions, "Loki's scepter is highly unlike the other two rod-like weapons of Asgardian make that SHIELD has recovered.

Of those two, one is the Berserker Staff. It is closest in structure to the scepter. However, as you can see, the patterns on the two are clearly different: the staff having intricate engravings while the scepter merely has simplistic grooves. From what information I have regarding Gungnir, scepter of Odin, I assume that his scepter is also decorated in the same manner as the Berserker Staff.

The other staff weapon in SHIELD custody is a gift from Loki to Heaven. It is my belief that Loki made it to his taste, since according to Heaven, she was not consulted about its design. That staff, though more simplistic, was also marked with substantial amounts of runes and engravings. As a result, I believe Loki's scepter is itself not of the Nine, as its design does not match those of any known realm.

It is my assumption therefore, that the scepter was provided to him by the same force which provided him with an army. Given the effects of mind control, it brings up the possibility that Loki's actions are influenced by the it."

Granduncle didn't have time to reply before he received a notification and headed to the lab, which, upon her suggestion, had a openable window, so that if Doctor Banner became volatile, he could be easily removed from the Helicarrier.

Then she returned to the sidelines again, until the discussion turned to the Tesseract, and the Asgardian Prince nearly started to rant. Seeing no reason not to, Petra asked,

"Why should SHIELD not worry? Asgard's might may be currently unchallenged, but what of those who lack such benevolence?

With your exile upon Earth, and Loki's sending of the Destroyer, Earth no longer has the luxury of anonymity, although some may argue that it has been lost since the Last World War, when HYDRA utilized the Tesseract, as Earth would have issued in ignorance a challenge, even then.

Now that the milk has been spilt, what should Earth do but prepare for War?

The Tesseract is one of the Six that are known as the remnants of Creation. Many would seek it, for fame, for love, for power. Among those factions Asgard knows of, I name a few.

Malekith. The Kree. Perchance Thanos the Mad Titan, if he had a pawn to enact his will…

If they come, how, I ask thee, would Asgard react?

The Red Skull found the Tesseract by following myths to a monastery's carving of a _world tree_ , behind which was his prize. I could have tracked the same item with half his resources, therefore, I ask thee, what of Asgard, for what reason did they conceal this where any motivated being may locate it?

Why did the Allfather decree it hidden upon Earth, knowing that it would be found, knowing that humanity would not be prepared for what it would bring? Why did Asgard not secure it in the vaults of the palace, instead of making Earth, the _nigh_ _ignorant_ Earth, the subject of enemy fire?"

Sadly, the arrogance of royalty meant her actions merely added fuel to the flames, and their conflict escalated as the topic moved on to threats and surveillance. Unsure of how best to act, the eight-year-old kept to the shadows, and did her best to be unnoticed.

Then Dr. Bruce Banner's agitation resulted in his picking up the staff, which further led to granduncle preparing to neutralize Doctor Banner, which meant she was supposed to move next to the window button and be ready to press it if the Hulk seemed to be emerging.

* * *

 _Loki's scepter seems to be enhancing feelings of paranoia and conflict. Rogers and Stark's argument rapidly becoming hostile, but unlikely to devolve to physical blows. Banner is increasingly agitated. Upon further examination, self and Director are also unusually excited, most possibly influence from the scepter. Petra Fury is less affected, but she has become unusually confrontational, possible latent affects from 0-8-4?_

 _Banner reveals suicide attempt, possible file update: Hulk's emergence may be triggered by self-inflicted endangerment, Hulk's emotions are not wholly tied to that of Banner's._

 _Observation: Petra Fury has moved to the window in accordance to contingency plan, but shows no signs of over eagerness or twitchiness. In fact, she's coping much better than most newbies. Hasn't forgotten the earpiece or the bag either, good. It'd been difficult to remind the kid of that without everyone else noticing._

 _Banner's findings disturb him—_

* * *

BOOM!


	8. Parents of Heaven

When the explosion came, Petra, in accordance to the drills granduncle practiced with her, slammed her hand on the window button and _pulled_. Banner flew towards her, skin already tinged with green, and as the windows retracted, she dove outside, dragging behind her the transforming behemoth.

It was exhilarating, to fall through the air with no fear, while simultaneously aware of _everything_ , from the droplets and molecules of water suspended in the air, to the being she dragged behind her. _Contact_.

Coordinates: 38° 33' 18.1401"N 62° 57' 5.9766" W, North Atlantic Ocean, salinity 3.367% Depth 4300 meters little plankton around, seamount to the south-down-East-74° with the correspondingsomanyspecies

tothesouthseaofmonsterswhichthemortalscalltheBermudaTrianglewithscyllaandcharybdiswiththeirownediescurrentstoomuchtoomuchtoomuch—

 _Breathe_.

She had dived deep, and there was sand underneath her shoes. Absently the girl noted that her surroundings were frigid, and that the pressure around her would kill a mortal man. At her feet, odd creatures lingered, simple minds brushing with hers, projecting feelings of affection towards the daughter of their Lord. Surrounded by oceanic power, she could live without other sustenance, and roam her father's kingdom, free of fear and doubt, for who would dare attack their princess, bastard though she may be? Or stand idly by whilst she was harmed, and not fear the wrath of the deeps?

But granduncle had given her a task. That was more important. So, she headed up towards the presence in the back of her mind. The Hulk had been dragged down too, and was thrashing and drowning yet very much alive. Oops. A mental effort got him to the surface, and another brought her up too, though she stayed deep enough underwater to be removed from danger.

Then, the girl put on her earpiece, crossed her legs, and settled down. She opened the emergency supplies granduncle packed, and smiled happily at the giant book included. Anne Applebaum's _Gulag: A History of the Soviet Camps_. On the first page, there was a post-it note, saying _enjoy the book, kid._ _–_ _Romanoff_. There was a postscript— _it'll do as a weapon in a pinch_. And indeed, the book agent Romanoff (Agent Romanoff) packed for her was delightful, with the accounts and anecdotes being more amusing than the grim subject matter would suggest, though the book was all the better for it. There was a bottle of water, and a few energy bars inside the bag too. Most of them were labeled for Doctor Banner, but there were a few blueberry treats for her. Sadly, she forgot to ask Stark for the freeze-dried blueberries. No matter, books and sweetmeats, the supplies were sufficient. Now, she just had to be patient, and wait.

* * *

Seriously, I'm worried. Dad had already given me twelve apology birthday presents and a few more "just because". Then, as a present for my unmasking (seriously, that's what he decided to call me getting shark teeth and cat's eyes, and an allergy to iron and speaking lies? -argh! Now I'm talking like P! I hate my dad!), I think he's planning on slaughtering a boat(Helicarrier)load of HYDRA agents or something, all 'cause I couldn't keep my gods damned mouth shut, and dad now knows about Theta, or at least, the HYDRA infestation, which he then translated into dealing preemptive vengeance towards those guys. Not that they don't deserve it. Nazi Death Cult sons of Pasiphäe.

* * *

Bruce Banner's first reaction was that the world was swaying, and that his eyes were stinging. He was naked, all alone in open water, and had a bright sun bearing down on him.

A head broke the surface in front of him, and he saw that it was Fury's grandniece. Guilt immediately rushed through him. The girl must be terrified, having to react to the Hulk, then falling through the air and into the sea, while a roaring monster tried to find a target, any target for its rage.

Then he saw that the girl's expression was focused, and she held a bag of clothes to him.

"Garments to replace those lost." She said by way of explanation. There were normal pants and underwear (he should be worried that SHIELD knew what sort of underwear he wore), a light shirt, and a dark jacket. The jacket was warm, and all the clothes were much drier than they should have been, what with being soaked in the water. Then he remembered when Agent Romanoff first brought the girl on board the Quinjet, and how she, and the long trench coat in her hands were perfectly dry. The girl was powered, was a metahuman.

Then, a thought flashed through his head, _why did she have suitable clothes?_

He thought back to the lab, when he had begun Hulking out. The girl had held a bag in her hands, slammed her hand on a button, and then, as the window opened, she had moved _towards_ the opening.

The kid hadn't fallen. She had _deliberately_ _jumped_ out of a flying ship through a window that _just_ _happened_ to open at the press of a button with a bag in her hands, a bag that contained _everything_ he would need after he reverted from the Hulk.

Fury had been prepared for him loosing control. The cage was just a distraction, or perhaps a contingency plan. The real containment was _Petra_ _Fury_. Her guardian had decided to use the _eight-year-old_ child to counter the Hulk.

"This wasn't an accident, Fury planned for you to be there."

The girl nodded once, fidgeting and looking down at her book, "If what you refer to is my bringing of your alter ego to where he would be no threat, indeed. I am very much capable of keeping myself safe until your alter ego is worn out, and my presence would ensure that SHIELD would be able to locate you."

"Safe?" He looked at her incredulously, "how could you have been safe? Being around a mindless monster is not the same as diving to retrieve a coat!" A wave washed over him at exactly that moment, so his last word was cut short as he spluttered on a mouthful of bitter-tasting saltwater.

Frowning slightly, the girl gripped his arm, and dragged him underwater. He let out a panicked shout. _Shout?_ Hesitantly, he inhaled through his mouth, and realized that yes, despite being underwater, he could breath. He was also bone dry, surprisingly. Opposite him, in the dappled light, was Petra, floating cross-legged. She offered him a bottle of water, and then said, by way of explanation,

"Sunburn is as much a concern as anything. Gra-Director Fury told me that we would have to wait a bit before retrieval, so it would be best if we put some water between us and the light. Besides, a practical demonstration might be more effective.

As you can see, despite being thirteen meters underwater, both you and I are unharmed. Me, because my abilities, you, due to proximity to me, and my decision to keep you dry. This should be sufficient proof that I am competent enough to survive a, as you said, mindless beast. After all, after the Hulk falls into the sea, all I needed to do was keep myself deep enough to avoid contact. For though your alternate form is fed on rage and fear, the Hulk needs air nevertheless."

While he was perfectly dry, the girl wasn't (the thick book clutched to her chest was though). Her hair billowed around her head, swept by eddies and currents, in the greying light that filtered through thirteen meters of water. "I however, do not."

She was a child, but there was something indescribably ancient around her at that moment, something that spoke of danger, of Power. The longer they stayed in the water, the less childlike Petra Fury had become, and he could almost believe that Fury hadn't made a wrong choice when it came to using her to counter the Hulk. And yet, she was an eight-year-old girl.

"Though the Hulk may be immeasurably strong, even his strength would amount to naught in the depths of the sea, where light does not reach, and the weight of water may crush steel. The Hulk is still of flesh and bone, both of which are softer than stone. If he had chased me, and did not end his pursuit, I would have imprisoned him into the cold and dark of the ocean deeps, until he ceased, and Bruce Banner emerged.

I have no need to fear your other face's wrath." Said the girl-who-might-not-be-a-girl, voice clear despite the water around, "not when I am in the sea."

"You shouldn't have had to." After all, he had seen children who couldn't allow themselves to be children in his travels, children, often in twos and threes, who held power to squash any human, and yet needing every drop of that and more, to protect themselves against other beings with even greater power. He had the feeling that this girl was one of them. If the Director of SHIELD knew that, then the girl's presence on a base full of trained agents might, instead of being the actions of a cold manipulator who saw the child as nothing but a resource, be an attempt by a parent (guardian) to do all in his power to keep his child safe.

"Indeed," the girl said, suddenly relaxing. "And the entity known as the Hulk is no rabid beast, or at least, he is no malignant one. He does not seek to deliberately harm, though, in his wrath, he does target indiscriminately. In truth, I believe that the Hulk is in many ways similar to Asgardian Berserkers when under the influence of a Berserker Staff, save that the after effects are less unpleasant."

"Less unpleasant?"

"You do not suffer from having your every dark memory brought to the fore to stimulate your endocrine system. The agent who came in skin contact with the staff had to be restrained and given therapy."

* * *

Last I saw, dad, he was going crazier, and after throwing me into another dimension, he got himself captured. Right now, I'm walking along in a winter wonderland, and I _don't feel cold_. Also, I don't even need my fancy silver staff to keep from slipping. I mean yeah, I'm half Jotun or something, so the cold never really bothered me anyway. Emphasis on really. Now, I literally don't feel cold, despite the fact that it's cold enough to kill someone. I know that because I just passed a stiff corpse on the road. And about that, I wasn't exaggerating when I said Winter Wonderland. There's an icy brick road that goes on and on and on, and if you ignore the occasional dead body, it's really rather pretty. There're frost flowers and bits of rock with lichen and moss, and crisp green pine trees covered in snow.

The roadside décor seems themed, to tell the truth. I'm currently in an Orient themed area. There's a bamboo grove, a brook fed by a hot spring with steam rising from it, the weird bonsai-looking mini pine trees as well as equally weird looking full-sized twisted pines, and, for a splash of color, wintersweet blossoms. It isn't bad to look at, and there is a sort of fancy old-fashioned beauty P'd appreciate, though I'm more of a modern gal. After crossing the brook on an ice bridge-and that was a disturbing feeling, since as I could see the water underneath, it felt like I was stepping on air-I arrived in a giant forest.

Tall, Dark, and not Handsome (they were as scary as Hades) trees loomed all around me, enough evergreens interspersed among them that it was dark and gloomy where I walked.

I could see rotting leaves where the ground wasn't covered by snow, but miraculously, there weren't any on the path (There wasn't any snow on it either, come to think of it)-suspicious. You know that feeling you get? How you feel the hairs rising on your neck when someone's watching you? That was how I felt. A branch cracked to my left. I heard the howl of a wolf.

Tartarus. Now I regret leaving the boring garden. Right, odds are, I'm now surrounded by predators, and therefore, I must not show fear. Stand tall, turn around lazily, don't show surprise...

It was a rabbit. I was being watched by a rabbit. A rabbit with glowing red eyes. A killer rabbit, but still, a rabbit. What in the name of Diana?

Don't stare. Don't show surprise. Continue walking.

Then, a shadow landed on it from a tree. It shook the killer rabbit, then tore into it. Finally, there was no more rabbit, and it sat up. It was a giant, and I don't mean Garfield-big, it was lion-size big, black cat. The white patch on its chest was stained red with blood. It stared at me with glowing lantern eyes.

"Changeling. Thou art summoned by the Queen to appear before the Unseelie Court."

What the-

Well I suppose it makes sense dad would throw me into mom's realm, but mom actually sending someone for me? That I didn't expect. And if my memory of Dresden Files is correct, that Cat is actually Cat Sith, king of cats, a Lord of the Winter Fae.

"Okay, so?"

He glared at me like he wanted to kill me. I do have that effect on people. "Come with me."

"Just like that? How do I know you aren't planning on kidnapping me, killing me, or cooking me? You only said that the I've been summoned to appear before the court. Never said anything about me being supposed to follow you (talking with Petra has made me very careful about assumptions)."

His glare intensified.

I crossed my arms, holding my new staff in one hand.

"Thy mother, the Queen, commanded me to collect you." There was a bit of approval in his tone though, apparently, I just passed a test.

"Oooookaaaay. So, uh, what do I call you?"

"A name for a name, Changeling child, as we walk."

"Kay, you can call me Morgaine." It's not my secret name, and it isn't what I chose to call myself, but Morgaine le Fey sounds like something that these guys'd like, and it is my given name.

My guide inclined his head, "I was once know as Tom Tildrum."

Don't laugh. Don't laugh. Don't laugh. Tom Tildrum, seriously?

We entered the woods. I followed as close as possible, barely managing to see Tom. I suspect that if I wasn't a changeling, I wouldn't see him at all.

Suddenly, we emerged into a blindingly white throne room that was apparently made out of ice. There were other colors and rainbows from the refracted lights too, I think, but I caught only a glimpse before being hit at the back of my knees and falling to the floor, keeping my head bowed out of common sense.

"Welcome, daughter, to the Unseelie Court. Arise." Said a voice as clear and cold as a winter morning.

Well, no choice in the matter. I did as told, and saw an ageless, white-haired woman wearing a crown of antlers, clad in a gown made of the Northern Lights seated upon a throne covered in icy spikes (kinda like the Iron Throne in GOT to be honest). To her sides were the assembled court of Sidhe. Some were reasonably human-ish in their appearance, other were very alien. But no matter what, they were both beautiful and terrifying to look at. My mother, the woman seated on the throne, was the most beautiful and terrible of them all.

"Be welcome, my child. Tonight, there shall be a feast in thy honor. Garb yourself in our raiment, and when you return, sit by my right hand."

I hastily gave a deep curtsy. "As you command, my Queen." Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you think, I was raised in Khione's court, so I knew how to act in this sort of situation.

A red-haired Lady moved towards me at a gesture from my scary as Hades (poor Nico di Angelo) Mother.

She led me to another room, where there was a table with loads of ornaments, and a rack with a fancy blue and white dress.

This could take a while.

Fortunately, I asked my dad to give Petra a note when he kidnapped Petra, and hopefully it'll end up with someone who can help, so Petra would be okay, even if I will be forcibly detained for the time being.

* * *

 _P, if you're reading this, then dad will be kidnapping you, and escape will already be hopeless. Listen to my orders carefully. DO NOT FIGHT. I presume that you saw how_ dad's _scepter works, you won't be able to resist, and it'll take all your_ free will _. Dad_ is _going to take you with him, when he does, be a reasonably cooperative reference book, Fury can cope with his grandniece_ gone _, so long as the_ Hulk _doesn't go free and_ hit _someone. Good luck, and_ be good for dad _._

 _Hugs and kisses,_

 _Heaven._

It was a note, wrapped over a small stone that glowed with gold and green light. The stone had appeared as a sudden weight in her pocket. Petra had bobbing on the surface with Doctor Banner, since granduncle-director had told her that things had calmed down, and to await retrieval. She had given Banner the tracker sticker, like granduncle told her to, and given granduncle the coordinates verbally too. It should be enough. It was a taunt perhaps, that Loki was making her choose the time she went to his side. She wasn't sure about the intricacies of normal interaction, but at least enemy and ally, feud and friend, those were things she could understand.

So, note to Bruce. She tore the paper to underline the words Heaven had written differently to incorporate a hidden message. The host of the Hulk should know that his other face would be needed.

"Here." She gave him the note.

Then, under sun, in the afternoon of that day, a girl went past the point of no return for her task.

* * *

The runestone's activation turned the world green and gold, blurring and swirling and clashing as Petra was torn through reality, tasting wrong and nauseating and _not of this world_. It deposited Petra retching and heaving on cold concrete floor.

"So much for the fabled Last Librarian of the _Uendelig Bibliotek_ , Sága's own chosen." Came a mocking voice from somewhere to her right, "no more than a stripling child, less than a decade grown, groveling at the feet of your betters. Still, you are of use. Answer my questions, I command you, Keeper of Knowledge."

Moving so suddenly from the brightness of the midday ocean to a room illuminated by a single hanging bulb meant that her eyes had difficulty adjusting. She was next to a wall, so she used it to support herself and shakily stand up. An enemy, a negotiation with a hostile warlord, mother had drilled how to act in such a situation into her.

 _Unless weakness will serve you better, keep your dignity. You are princess of the Greeks, trueborn daughter of Agamemnon, and my own child. Of Sparta cometh your mother child, therefore stand tall as a Spartan woman._

"Then speak your questions, seeker." She stepped free of the wall, and though dark spots swam before her eyes, she stood tall, and did not falter.

"What force blocks Tesseract, and how may it be countered?"

The Librarian answered. "Night's Queen who is called Nyx and Nox, Eldest and Greatest, doth oppose ye mortal, for ye art attempting to open a path through the vast emptiness of space which is Her realm. Do you truly believe, mortal, that ye mayest counter the Will of She whom even the Divine Pantheons assembled feared?"

Loki laughed. "You are far too young to play and win in word-games with the Liesmith, little human. Answer me, how may I counter the influence of this so called 'night's queen'?"

"I speak no lie." The Librarian who was once daughter of Clytemnestra said, "I know not of any way to counter Nyx who rules the eternal night, nor Her daughter, Day who is called Hemera."

And truly, no way existed to oppose the one who was Eldest. _How did she even know that?_

"Thrice asked and am done. How can I open the portal?" The not-god hissed as he stalked close, scepter raised.

 _Dawn, Noon and Dusk, when veils are thin and neither reigns supreme._ But she couldn't tell an enemy that.

And then. _Can._ Methodology and science, the Iridium Mr. Stark mentioned, and the need for "an energy source to kickstart the cube". She didn't understand enough on that.

"You must kickstart the device utilizing an energy source to break through a barrier." (she had forgotten the name of the barrier, forgotten specifics. She had a habit of doing so, especially when the names were spoken, not written. That flaw served her now.)

"I did not ask you as to the mechanical processes of creating a portal, Fury Seasprung, only how I could open one to connect through time and space. Do not be obtuse, it does not suit a keeper of knowledge." Heaven's father talked like Petra did when she fell on old habits. It was comforting, almost, the comfort of the familiar, if not that of the perception of safety.

Then Loki crouched down somewhat, so she wasn't craning her head to look at him.

 _Raise your head if you must child, but do not look through your hair or strain your eyes. Those actions are far more demeaning the angle at which your head tilts._

"You are strong-willed, grandniece of the Director Fury. It is no surprise that you are favored by the Library in which no other has trod fearlessly, and are chosen to protect its secrets. Princess of the shadowed king of this world, a child who has _killed_ before she even knew how to speak, you will be valued by many. I already know a method to tear through the barrier, one I am sure anyone with even a smattering of knowledge would guess."

"Raw power?" Petra asked, wracking her memories for what Heaven had told her about the basics of wielding forces supernatural.

"Indeed. The simplest way to gain power in this world is by human sacrifice. A few thousand should suffice. And then, once the Tesseract gains a foothold and my army pours through, the ensuing deaths would keep the portal open for as long as needed. Would you like that, child?"

Petra would not. But mother would think first. "Only if there is no better alternative."

Loki smiled, "There is one. Tell me how to open the portal without resorting to drastic measures willingly, and I shall do so. In return for your service, I shall also award you a position in my court, once Midgard is conquered, and, since I am merciful, you may have a say in the fate of those you love."

A vow is _only kept when the penalty for being an oath-breaker outweighs the benefits of double-crossing, child._ Clytemnestra had told her daughter _._

"You consider yourself superior to those of this world, thus, you are beholden to non to keep your word. I have only one item for leverage, thus what reason have I to trust you, or risk myself on your integrity, Liesmith?"

Loki replied, "But I have told you, Little Librarian, sea-sprung child. Many would value you, little princess of the deeps, young murderess, beloved of the _Uendelig Bibliotek_. I will have many uses for you, more, if you choose willingly to bow to me."

Mother told her that if overpowered, leave all pride, all honor behind. Use whatever means possible to survive, to gain power. In China, there was the historical fable of 勾践 (gou jian)，the conquered king who became a household slave to the vanquisher, before being let go, and reconquering his kingdom. Even if vengeance was not possible, to have influence over the king would be better than nothing at all. Duty before all, as it were. Opus Primus.

But there was the question she sought answers to: _From whom did the scepter come?_ And as the Thunderer said, _Who controlled the would be king?_

Petra trusted Heaven to influence her father's verdict, and there was Theta to consider. She trusted that Earth, which weathered so many dictators, and so many secret invasions, to not be crushed under this madman's heel. She trusted that the hidden worlds, with their ancient inhabitants, would rise to protect what was theirs. Earth had no shortage of heroes, no lack of warriors, what it needed was knowledge. And as Librarian, it was only right for her to seek knowledge.

She knew what the scepter did, and she was sure that if she could only touch the puppet-ties, she could follow the strings back to their source. So, _provoke him_.

"I say thee nay, for thou art destroyer of history, thief of knowledge, one who has harmed those I call friend." It was easy to speak now, words flowed from her tongue far easier than they did when she spoke to kith and kin.

The god was contemptuous. "You claim to wish to protect those you love," he sneered, "but when given a way to do so, you do not take it. Is it so hard, you insolent brat, to bow or bend to your betters for those for whom you care? But I suppose it is only to be expected that a murderess would have no knowledge of love, especially not one whose hands were bloodied ere she knew to speak."

Seeing the surprise on her face, the god moved uncomfortably close, blue light from the scepter's jewel illuminating the shadowy corners of the room while casting his eyes into shadow, "You did not know, did you, child, that you are a killer? That then explains why you were allowed aboard that flying fortress, and not thrown into a gaol, for as you did not know your sins, they could not be unearthed from your mind. I wonder what would happen to you now that your guilt is plain to see? Tell me, now that you are made criminal," here his tone became kindly, but Petra still backed into the cold, slightly damp _comforting_ wall, clutching her book to her chest as if it could protect her. The BOOK. _It'll do as a weapon in a pinch. The three brothers._ "have you any choice but to join me?"

Gripping _Gulag_ in both hands, she swung upward, hard. It connected.

While before, Loki acted as a cat with a mouse, now, a trickle of running down his face, all that showed on his face was rage.

The mad god raised his scepter to her chest, and-

 _Blue_.

* * *

 **Notes:**

 **The sort of information overload when Petra touched water is a headcannon. Since Petra, unlike Percy, developed powers too early, I theorize that since she couldn't defend herself properly, and her powers were too weak, her powers evolved towards providing information (the Library may have a hand in this as well), so that she could sense danger and run earlier, instead of being powerful enough for her to easily defend herself with them. So, if Petra tried the same stunt Percy did with the tornado, she'd likely overextend herself and die. On the other hand, her scent is less obvious, and with her being on the sea, or in the Helicarrier a ship=seafaring vessel=Neptune's domain, not many monsters would dare attack her, and the ones that did were dealt with by Heaven. The Helicarrier is safe, neutral territory because it's a flying ship.**

 **Bruce Banner totally came across demigods in his travels.**

 **According to Wikipedia, Cat Sith is, in a folktale, called Tom Tildrum.**

 **Sága is the Norse Goddess of Wisdom.**

 ** _Uendelig Bibliotek_ is Norse for infinite archives, as checked by repeated translations on a web translator.**

 **Petra killing as a toddler will be explained next chapter, as a reason for why her powers have already manifested.**

 **The Archives of Existence (known as the Great Alexandrian Library by Petra), are known throughout the world by different names.**

 **Loki's behavior was deliberately clumsy, in an attempt to keep Petra from answering, or at least from giving him more information than necessary. Didn't work, but it was a good try.**


	9. Revelations

**So, update. I procrastinated a lot because this kept feeling like too expository and Mary-Sue fic-ish. Also, I got distracted by the Naruto Fandom. Anyway, better now, and working on the next chapter. Should post in a week.**

Good news, bad news, and what did I do to deserve this?

The good news is that I don't have to wear all of the stuff in the room. Mom's apparently not a Z-minus parent [she's closer to a P or a I, (Z for Zeus, P for Poseidon, H for Hades and I for Icy—cool right? The big three's initials correspond to their parenting prowess!)], so her solution to a new, weird daughter was to get loads of crazy outfits for me to choose from. That's the good news.

The bad news? Loads of crazy outfits. I have to try all of them on. They range from skimpy—and by that, I mean that I thought the thing was handkerchief at first glance. It got an automatic no from both me and my weird supervisor/handmaiden—yeah, I might be volunteering for brainwashing but I'm not going to be pedo-bait, especially not in the _Winter Court_.

On the other hand, there're also outfits that turn you into a snowball. Like the one I'm wearing now. It has at least ten layers in it. There's underwear, then the undershirt and tights, then the underdress, followed by petticoats, and some _thing_ that I don't know the name of, covered by another three layers of torture fabric. The only upside is that the Fey don't believe in corsets.

There're also ridiculous shoes. They're leprechaun-leather-buckle-things and impossible to walk in. Impossible, as in even stiletto heels would be easier to manage.

That's it. Nope, I'm not wearing any of these things. "Hey," I said to the Sidhe lady fussing over me. I'm a princess, right?"

She nodded, gracefully. "Indeed."

"And the 'Firstborn' of a prince of Asgard?"

"Yes."

"Shouldn't I dress in something a bit more appropriate for a fighter then? I mean, at least something that doesn't make me look like a socialite from the 18th century."

She looked gracefully thoughtful (how does that even work?). "True. I shall consult the queen. Remain here."

"Kay…" I slumped onto a chair. That went well.

The lady went.

There isn't anything to do now, but wait. So, story time!

Yeah, I know some of you are wondering why I like auntie Nyx even though she blackmailed and coerced my bestie into eternal servitude with a side order of endless suffering in a job where _every single person_ who took it committed suicide (In case you didn't catch it, Dusk can only die by choice, 'cus the only way for Dusk to actually die is by spending themselves utterly, mind, body, and soul, which basically means super-charged self-destruction since otherwise, they'll be resurrected). Phew! That was a mouthful… Thing is, well, I'm not normal either. I spent my childhood as the ward/pseudo-daughter of Khione in Boreas' court, where everyone there looked at me and thought something along the lines of: "Hey! That's a great pawn, I want it!"

They kept calling me names like "Morgaine", "Borealis", "Daughter of Khione", and occasionally, for those in the know (not many, 'cos info is valuable currency) "Lokidottir". I was three when I decided that I didn't want to be called something that stuffy anymore, especially when those names basically implied that I was only important because of my parents, and marked me as the daughter of two god/desses who were really lousy parents and stuck-up snobs to boot. So, I decided on a name of my own—Heaven Crow, and on a side note, you now know why my name's a bit on the ridiculous side—I was three, and we don't make smart choices when we're three, but, well, the name's the one I chose for myself, by myself, so I won't give it up. Anyway, I was running around the palace, and telling everyone that I was Heaven Crow and being laughed at—I was the "daughter" of Lady Khione, "grandchild" of Lord Boreas, and that was all they cared about.

That was when I met Nyx. I collided with a goddess I didn't recognize, so I introduced myself as Heaven Crow, not bothering with tacking on the standard declaration of parentage. Instead of laughing and calling me child or Borealis or seeing me as nothing more than Khione's daughter, she inclined her head and said, _quite politely_ , "Greetings, Heaven Crow, I am Nyx. It is a pleasure to meet you." Now, that might seem like basic courtesy, but remember, every-Keres-damned-body else called me "Daughter of Khione", "Borealis", or, if they were feeling particularly charitable, "Morgaine". They didn't even see me as a separate entity, just Khione's offspring/pet demigod. But Nyx, as in the _Protogenos of night_ , who should, by all accounts, be the stuffiest of the lot, acknowledged me as my own person—the first and _only_ god to do so, and basically said that she did not give a steaming pile of Minotaur dung about observing niceties and protocol. Well, I guess that she could afford to—she was Nyx after all, but I did meet Hera and the like, and they didn't call me by _my_ name either. And afterwards, I realized that auntie, since she was, well, _the_ most powerful being in existence, and Author of the Ancient Laws, had, by greeting me using my name, made it legally mine—the official explanation's that since She Who is the Law may speak no untruth, then anything she said would have to be made true.

So, since she was the only person to ever acknowledge me as my own entity, and she had the decency to make it official, I am loyal to her. Yeah, auntie may do all the good is not nice nor soft stuff, and occasionally go _waaay_ off the deep end, but I don't really care. If she doesn't do that sort of stuff, someone else will, so why not her? That said, I was raised in a godly court. That means that I don't mind working for auntie because I will be forced to call someone boss anyway. Besides, as far as godly patrons go, she's decent, and cool, and actually knows pop culture, even if she does have a habit of going all grumpy old-timer at me.

The lady's back with good news. She said that Mom decided that I could wear something normal-er. Then, she disappeared most of the stuff in the room, leaving me a few things to choose from. So, pants, combat boots, and a frost-vine pattern on my jacket. She threatened me with a sailor costume if I didn't wear any jewelry though, so I have to wear a necklace and earrings and a load of hairpins plus a tiara. They're all in pale gold and set with _aurora borealis_ colored rocks. Maybe they're opals. Dunno.

We then spent the next few hours going through fairy basics, i.e. glamour, bullshitting without lying, portal making (I failed. Terribly. I managed to create a portal into Heaven, and caught a glimpse of very surprised looking angels sorting souls. A butterfingered guy dropped one, it exploded, and alarms started blaring. I can only hope that I haven't started a diplomatic incident by accident), and "spinning moonlight to weave with starsongs". I was beginning to think I would rather just go into court blind.

* * *

Blue. The deeps of her fatherland made

* * *

her mind. Blue. A _toobright_ shade of teal, light filtered in through the water, penetrating the murky gloom of forgotten memories, seeking to illuminate the whole of her mind's depths.

With light comes Kn _owL_ e **d** ge. She remembered events long forgotten. Warmth. Dark red. A vague awareness of a sea upon an ocean, and a _toostrong_ sense of peace with an undercurrent of unease.

Her world contracted around her as it jarred. A miasma of moments. Then coldness and dryness. She _screamed_. Snarls and growls. _Whatisthisfeeling_? Terror. _Fight/FlightFIGHT getawaygoawayMOTHER_

* * *

 **Pause.**

* * *

This is rather nonsensical, is it not? An infant's perception of things is rarely accurate. Allow me to translate its experiences into a coherent narrative.

You see, Petra's mother, Sophia, wasn't associated with the world of spies and secret agents. She had forged her own path outside of her family's shadow, unhampered and unaided by her family's marginally inhuman bloodline. How? The name Fury was that of a creature from the myths of old, a monster of nightmares. It was a subtle indicator of a not-quite-mortal heritage, one that lent itself well to espionage. The House of Fury teetered at the boundaries between mundane and _not_ , at a crossroads where the influence of many a supernatural faction wove together.

The most relevant examples: of the Sidhe, the Changeling's choice, to be mortal, or to be more, unaging and eternally vivacious in exchange for a set path to walk, or of the Divine Pantheons, the potential to see past the veils drawn over the eyes of mortal men.

But that is beside the point. All you need to know is that Sophia Fury was a normal civilian woman who just happened to know how to deal with anything from pushy boyfriends and accidental pregnancies to whipping up a meal from two eggs, some flour, water, and yeast. In short, she was no more than mortal, risen upon her own merit, so she could not see through the Mist, and was as vulnerable as any to the dream-state cast upon the passengers of the _Princess Andromeda_.

Now, Sophia Fury, while pregnant with Petra, was one of the passengers on Kronos' flagship. The demigod in her belly made her a particularly attractive meal for the monsters aboard, but it also delayed her demise, since a newborn demigod could be trained as part of the New Order. But there were, quite predictably, complications. When Sophia went into labor and her water broke, her daughter's scent was strong enough for the attending _Empousai_ to be driven into such a frenzy that they tore into her mother's living flesh to retrieve the unborn infant.

But death brought clarity, and mundane or not, Sophia was a Fury. She was a mother. She was Legacy of Nemesis, though so many generations had passed. A Fury. Vengeance and the desire to protect combined as she breathed her last, and the minutes-old child's abilities were forced into manifestation by instinct, desperation and her mother's dying will. Power given in exchange for future strength scraped the newborn's soul raw as it tore her mother's flesh and blood from the stomachs and throats of the feeding predators and marked her valuable.

Demigods grow through tribulation, and their strength is forged through fire. That is why each individual's abilities are unique, the product of nature and nurture both. This was the first experience that shaped Petra Fury. Blood calling to blood and desperation to darkness, hands stained aureate and crimson, with death casting upon her its shadow. For thus was she marked: marked to walk into the darkness in which her brother only dabbled, to violate the sacrosanct, know the unknowable, and by that same desperation, force herself to remain sane.

She was grandchild of Kronos Crooked-One, father-killer-child-devourer, fosterling of a eldritch entity. She was fated to walk abreast with gods, and be the least of the divine, not the greatest of those doomed to die. Her path to walk was one long-forgotten, overgrown with weeds and beset by primordial horrors, for she was herald for old powers, not fresh blood for the new.

A nameless child was given her former name, and Hypatia became, by some arcane alteration of the Library's, Petra. Petra was the Librarian of Alexandria, as young and frail as the fawn Iphigenia had been replaced with upon the altar. Knowledge was power, and prey relied on its ability to know when to flee. Was it any wonder that as a result, Petra developed extreme, almost debilitating awareness, spread through the water in the environment, and an inability to filter out what she learned? Percy Jackson could subconsciously interpret most of what he got from the sea, the information flowing into his mind processed before he was even aware of it. Petra Fury had no such luxury. Though upon land, it was an advantage, in water, it could become her undoing.

Nature made Petra Fury an aged soul, reborn with too-old eyes, but it was nurture that shaped her abilities towards knowledge and precision, contrary to her brother's awe-striking displays of power. Volcanic eruptions and personal hurricanes. _Really?_

* * *

That little piece of forgotten trauma wasn't the only thing Loki dug up. He is quite like Odin in some ways, though he realizes it not. He wishes to be a good parent, but he is terrible at communicating or expressing that desire healthily.

Let's look at Petra from his point of view. Here is a little girl, perfect for distracting his master from his own daughter, and, more importantly, this is a living record of a part of his daughter's life. At the moment, he's already inside her head. It is a golden opportunity for, for lack of better words, snooping.

Snippets.

 _Runic measurements done, a concentric circle. Heaven, what is the next step?_

" _Seriously P? C'mon, you need to learn how to talk normally. Right now, you're basically defaulting to creepy staring plus disturbingly unchildlike behavior, also, don't get me started on your sentences, they sound like they're from LOTR or some villain's 'hear me and despair' speech! But don't worry! I've got a perfect solution! We're going to watch a movie ASAP!"_

 _An association._

 _Two children, side by side. "The name you chose…is very fitting." This child offered, struggling to speak in a single language and modern words. "As opposed to Hela and Hel, you are named for the western afterlife of the blessed, and to the Allfather's eyes, Huginn and Muninn, your surname does refer, but instead of Raven, you named yourself Crow to hide your Nordic roots."_

 _Her friend_ _His daughter blinked. Paused. Then reacted. "Kay, P, that's insane troll logic plus conspiracy nuttiness at its finest. I decided on Heaven Crow when I was three, not exactly mastermind symbolism age, ya'know? Not everything's done for a reason."_

 _Explosions._

 _Implosions._

 _Holes in the walls._

 _More explosions._

…How did he end up with such an over-exuberant child?

 **RE M _E MB_ER _Y_ OUR _PU_ RPOSE.**

Ah, to give his master another thing to hold over his head. How unfortunate. The girl before him was his daughter's associate. She was powerful enough to kill her. So, a trigger implanted in the mind of the hydrokinetic, to activate upon the next meeting between the two children and compel the brat to murder his daughter, if it was not removed upon his triumph. Pity, he could not even consider adding an automatic kill-switch.

He gave a last look of loathing at the whimpering pile of mortal weakness. He had hoped for an ally, but there was no hint of the fabled power of the Old Ones in this pitifully posturing ant. Perhaps in time, it would have realized some of its potential, but its desirability had vanished the moment it had become a threat to his daughter.

He left, unaware of a primrose tucked into his boot, while his daughter dined and whined, and her bane lay insensate.

Later, he found the symbol of the Eveningstar on his person, and its mistress along with an envoy of _children_ removed him from Asgard's authority before giving him to a _cult_. Of juveniles. Ruled by a boy aged less than one-score winters and his uncle (Nepotism ran _rampant_ _hypocrite_ ). He was greatly offended.

* * *

 _At the same time, Heaven Crow had been returned to the real world after a terrifying formal dinner that somehow turned into a rave, and both she and Petra were acquired by the Red Room's recruiters (they'd both had been labeled as PoI, and Loki was the perfect way to disappear her)._

Ilium had fallen for Odysseus's schemes.

 **The primrose flower is also called the Eveningstar. Petra's cast is Amandla Stenberg, AKA Rue from** _ **the Hunger Games**_ **and young!Cataleya from** _ **Columbiana**_ **. Also, yep, Mab's in on the game. Fairies are the angels fallen from Heaven who weren't evil enough for Hell. They occupy the grey area Nyx patronages. Next chap, Red Room, Nico di Angelo, and an esoteric ritual.**


	10. School

**So, chapter up. Contrary to popular expectation, Petra's version of a ritual is less robes and chanting, and more Step one, do the thing. Step two, do another thing. Step three, clean up. Simple and this chapter, we get Red Room school, Heaven, and Nico and Nicholas.**

Petra woke up on cold tiled floor in a laboratory.

A hologram flickered into existence. A mousy, bespectacled man, wearing a beige suit and a pleasant expression. The hologram spoke, "Hello, Miss Fury, I see that you are awake. Please take a seat."

He gestured to the laboratory stool in front of the empty table. Petra pushed herself off the floor and sat, awkwardly.

The projection moved to the other side of the table and took a seat as well, the chair shimmering into existence. Leaning forward, he began, "There is a matter that would benefit from your consultation. As a fellow intellectual, there has been a certain matter that has caught my scientific interest. Tell me, how would one deal with a rogue fairy?"

Petra twisted her hands nervously and replied, "The standard procedure is either a banishment or a binding. Banishments usually work for changelings by throwing them into the fireplace and sending them up a chimney or a myriad of other such rites, but bindings are simpler, and you don't need to overpower the Fae."

"Then, how would I go about binding a fairy?" The Doctor was interested and nice.

"The ritual's core is simple. Mortal blood, drunk willingly, to chain, and mortal breath to forge the lock and key. It's a binding to force a Fae to bend to one's will, to usurp its name and impose another upon it, until the padlock breaks and the binding shatters as the heart ceases to beat and the mortal's soul flees."

The hologram raised an eyebrow, asking, "And if this 'ritual' is as simple as you claim, why aren't we overrun by assorted fools with fairies on leashes?"

Hesitant to contradict the Doctor, but taking comfort in the familiar, the girl fidgeted and answered, "It's not the binding that is difficult, but the summoning. Fae know of the threats beset about this mortal plane and will struggle most fiercely when brought hither. A broken circle, a stray breeze, a wandered mind." She shrugged, "Even the meanest of mistakes may magnify mishap into misfortune."

"So all your so-called 'binding requires is blood and a few words?" The Doctor asked.

"Yes." Petra nodded earnestly. "Mortal blood for a chain and a change, then mortal breath channeled through speech for shaping the Fae by redefining its nature."

"And it will last for a lifetime."

"Blood and breath. The binding will break with the binder's final breath. What is the span of a mayfly's birth and death to one of the Resplendent?"

The Doctor smiled, "Thanks you for your contributions, Miss Fury. Take a drink from the cup to your left please."

Petra did. The room blurred, and she heard the Doctor say, "I look forward to your enrollment in school." Then it was dark.

* * *

Do you know how irritating (and off-putting) it is to wake up in a totally unknown location, especially when the change in décor is ridiculously jarring? No? Me neither, well, until now. Mum knocked me out during the party and then (I presume) she kicked me into normal creation somewhere convenient, after which I must've gotten kidnapped by HYDRA goons and finally ended up in this creepy little interrogation cell, wearing steel handcuffs, which are ouch. Huh, I learned another new thing today. So, you know that folktale/movie/fiction thingy in which iron burns Fae? It's a lie. Cold iron doesn't burn, it gives you frostbite, so the expression "welding cold"? Yeah, it's a lot less expression-y for me. Steel's not pure iron, and I'm not pure Fae, so it's less freezing welts and open sores and more like what normal people feel when they stick their hands in ice-water. Not much at first, but as time passes, cramps and tremors start and you feel convinced that you're going to get hurt even if you know that nothing permanent will actually happen.

The door opened behind me. Ooh, even creepier, since the walls merge seamlessly with the door, so the poor schmuck (in this case, me) inside would get a scare when the interrogator enters (stage left and back).

Two cups of water are set down on the table. The guy smiles (I think he's trying to be nice), and says, "Hello Miss Crow, let's talk."

Showtime.

"So, whaddya wanna know? I dunno what dad meant with all the world domination stuff, so if you're trying to ask me about where his bases are or what his designs were, no dice. The most I can tell you is that he had brother issues galore and could cook up a hell of an insanity plea if he's standing on trial and that's before he started messing around with Asgard trinkets and weird and useless Christm—" I gagged, coughing as I suddenly couldn't get the words out. Oh right, Asgard doesn't celebrate Christmas. But I did imply that the Infinity Stones were just trinkets as far as Asgard was concerned, so there's that to be thankful for. I took a drink of water.

The man nodded to something behind me as my insides started to burn with cold. I collapsed, boneless, spasming as I clutched my stomach. The COLD reached spread, up to my heart as it slowed its beats, then up my spinal cord, up, up, into my head. I saw psychedelic colors and heard the screaming of a thousand thousand throats, felt my name torn from me and ohdivinitiesaboveI'mswearinglikePwhoamIwhatsmyname THISISNOTOKAY I'M PANICKING!

"You are Jack Frost." A hoarse voice cuts through my haze, and I could feel myself changing, hair shortening into a bob and glamour rippling into white combat boots, navy cargo pants, and a hoodie splayed in frost. That was sooo not in the _So You're a Fairy 101_ I got.

* * *

Petra came to awareness again in a vertical section of pipe. Beneath her feet lay a grate, with a larger square of open space in the middle. The pipe ended somewhat higher than she could reach, with **(2,5)** stenciled onto the top. It was like getting trapped in a well—an almost claustrophobic experience, with less than comfortable amounts of space, and disorientating curved walls. Four voices shouted in unison. _Wake up! Wake up! You are students of the Red Room now. Loyalty is expected! Insubordination will be severely punished! From now on, you have no identity but that which we give you, you have no homeland, no name, no family. Your have been brought here to be shaped into weapons to better serve a higher purpose!_

They spoke of world peace, and of their future contributions thereof, of protocol and timetables whilst they were within the program. There was a constant repetition of _obey, obey, obey_ , and formulaic responses to tears, yelling, sleeping, and other such infractions to the rules consisted of the cold phrase "([number, number]), _ will not be tolerated" and a spraying with water from above. She could sense that the water was cold, but silence and a lack of overt insubordination had kept her from "suffering" the punishment.

While disobedience was punished by the phrase and spray combination, dissension was openly mocked, and the argument was torn apart, followed by a series of verbal attacks on the speaker. In time, her fellow students' defiance had been muted by sleep deprivation and the lack of food, and while she had no way to count the hours, the voices had changed many times. After a bit, commands were added in, from simple and pointless orders of the sort one might find in obedience training, "sit", "stand", "touch your toes", to more degrading ones, "defecate", "urinate", followed by the welcome "eat", "drink", "dispose of waste" that came after bags of nutrient solution and water were thrown down.

Petra had heard the same voice a handful of times when there came the command to sleep. Sitting down, she leant back and dozed off.

It was all too soon that she was woken again, and the cycle repeated, orders and speeches, with the addition of longer and longer passages that they were told to repeat. _Our purpose is service. We are not people. We are weapons. We dedicate ourselves with unerring discipline to the Cause. We are the tools that shape the world. We have no name, no self, no family; we have no past, no hometown, no mothertongue; we have no desires, no…_

Time lost meaning as everything blurred into an endless present, nothing mattering but obedience and compliance, and constant mantras drilled into her foggy and sluggish thoughts. She could not muster more than the bare minimum of energy demanded, and she felt a vague, but increasing desire to get a jet of water to spray over her—if she could force herself to speak unprompted, that was.

The whole ordeal ended after a few sleep cycles, and numerous combinations of voices. Their last orders were _strip_ , _dispose of clothing_ , _wash_ , and _dress_. There were a few snags when someone didn't take off their underwear, but that was it. They were clean, fed, relatively coherent, and dressed in the clothes they had been given. Magnets descended, pulling the pipes up, and they were free. Free enough, at least, and finally putting voices to numbers and numbers to faces.

They were immediately called up by another four voices. So, with habits newly engrained, they reacted with immediate obedience, walking up the stairs by the side of the giant pit that had contained their pipe-prisons. They were greeted by five rows of older teenagers, all dressed in the same plain dark uniform they wore. All of the teenagers were standing at parade rest, hands behind their backs, faces blank and facing forward, though their eyes looked at them instead of fixing on a particular spot in the distance. The first row had four people, the rest had five, an even assortment of different ethnicities, sexes, builds, and comely or homely features.

The four, two male, two female, step forward. "Assemble according to your numbers." The stocky male said.

The quartet then separated, calling numbers from one to four. The children lined up, six to a leader. The rest of the teenagers moved, each one standing by their respective junior. They produced boxes and scissors. With quiet commands, the older teenagers ordered the new students to move this way and that, shortening their hair into practical crops. Finished, they put the silver bracelets inside the boxes onto the children's left wrists, the bracelets automatically shrinking to fit. Still not fully recovered from their fugue state, the students dumbly let themselves be manhandled.

The taller girl smiled kindly, the transition from dispassionate machine to human being extraordinarily jarring. Privately, Petra found it suspicious. "You are Class Cinnabar. We are Class Mulberry, the middlemost senior class studing your curiculumn. We will be your mentors throughout this stage of your education. Follow us, we'll take you to the dormitories. You remember the rules, I hope." She gave them a wan smile, "Otherwise, you'll be disciplined."

They were led to an empty room by the quartet, the rest of their seniors leaving with a tilt of a head as farewell. The room was long and rectangular. It had no door, triple bunkbeds lining the two walls, two toilets at the end, and curious panels on the walls. "We'll come for you tomorrow. For now, sleep." The other boy said, equally calm in tone.

Petra was the first to move, choosing the middle left bunk nearest to the toilets—one of the most defensible positions for her. She climbed onto the bunk after shedding her shoes, her classmates soon following. As the lights went out, there was a low buzz, and the girl's tracking bracelet—not entirely unfamiliar, SHIELD had similar ones, stuck itself to the panel on the wall. Judging from the shrieks and shouts of surprise, it had happened to everyone.

She slept, and dreamt of darkness and deeps and diabolic whispers.

* * *

On the bright side, I'm not brainwashed. On the not-so-bright side, I might as well be. Don't get your name broken, kids, it never helps. My default state's now a slightly military dress-uniform-y glamour and a permanently cheery temperament. Luckily, I was already that way. I realized a bit ago that dear ol' snakeys won't be doing anything particularly bad to me cause' it won't work—perks of being Unseelie, but they will give me orders. Sucks for them, since I only have to obey orders to the letter, and orders wear off, so, things like "shut up" doesn't mean that I can't bang the table, or crash chairs into the floor, etc. and I'll start talking after a couple hours anyways. Unfortunately for them, I'm too much of an asset to lose, so they're at a loss as to what to do. While I'm basically stuck with the bloody Winter Soldier because it was his blood in the water and his voice that named me. I hate my life.

* * *

Shadows twisted. A boy appeared from the heart of their darkness.

"Nico di Angelo." Fury said, bored, "son of Maria di Angelo and presumably Hades. Only known shadow-traveler currently alive, powerful enough to pop up in China without permanent injury. Polyglot, fluent in classical and modern Greek and Latin, Italian, English, and Mandarin, with a smidgen of German, French and Russian vocabulary thrown in. Swordsman, but passably familiar with many other forms of combat throughout history. Has suspected ties to the underworld, in both senses of the word. Physically fourteen. I presume that you're my new liaison?"

The boy glared at him grumpily, "Despite my protests, yes. For your information, I didn't want this job."

"I didn't ask, kid, and whether or not you didn't want the job doesn't fucking matter, we're still stuck doing it unless you can find a motherfucking alternative. Breathmint?"

The kid looked at him strangely, took the mint, and pulled out a folder. "Let's start working then."

* * *

Despite the initial unpleasantness, things soon settled into an exhausting, but acceptable routine. The panels disengaged when the lights went on, signaling that they had a quarter of an hour to wash and dress before they were to file into the dining hall. They then collected trays of breakfast and kept an eye on the display boards as they ate. Once given their schedules for the day, they headed to classrooms or exercise rooms, ran and stretched and leapt and danced, being pushed to the breaking point every day by cold-eyed sharp-voiced teachers who expected them to learn volumes of information, geography and biology and chemistry theory, practical applications in bomb-making, poisons, plant & animal identification, mammalian body structure, landmarks and locations and the like. They were drilled to politeness and pleasant temperament as they learnt language and culture in the same class, taught the litany _we are weapons, we have no identity, we do not judge_. Scorned for mockery, held in contempt for lack of respect, their teachers laid the groundwork for future conditioning.

 **Yes, Nico was reminded of Leo. Make of that what you will.**


End file.
